Poor Murphy...he was so excited and happy when I put him in the car this morning. He loves to go places. He was just the picture of joy and anticipation...until we got to the vet's office.
Going inside wasn't too bad, but then came the drama as I'd decided to leave him there for a couple of hours while I ran other errands. So I turned his leash over to the tech, and then it started.
Murphy immediately turned and began pulling away from the tech, only partly frustrated by the slick linoleum floor. I gave him a bit of a shove back towards her, telling him that it was ok, and the tech was able to coax him into running after her into the back exam area. Thinking that it was a fait accompli at last, I walked out the front door just as Murphy jumped up at the tech, grabbed her end of his leash in his mouth, pulled it away from her, and ran back down the hall to the door. I heard the frantic scratching of paws on glass and looked back to see Murphy, up on his hind legs, clawing at the closed door that stood between he and his person with his front paws. Poor guy. Poor, sad guy. So I had to go back inside and help get Murphy back into the exam area again. It was worth it to hear the leash-grab story, though. Smart dog. Danger smart.
An hour and a half later, and a hundred and some dollars poorer, I recovered Murphy from the vet. He's got a bacterial infection that's causing him to scratch/bite his hindquarter area something fierce, and if the meds we got don't start curing it by Friday, e's going to get shaved and fitted for another cone. And what a sad day that will be, both for him and for me, since when something makes him as miserable as a cone, he shares the misery by making me miserable.
Ah, dogs...such treats.