The day started with the highest K9 hopes. Told to get his leash, Murphy ran down to the door, grabbed his leash off the generator gas tank, and capered about, whining with anxiety. Once leashed, the door was opened and he ran right to the truck, all set for a glorious ride to somewhere. I put him in, secured him to the seat belt, and opened his window so he could put his head out. Then we drove off towards town, slowed only once by the local volunteer fire department, who had set up their traffic cones and were now standing in traffic trying to collect money for one of their "boot drives". Typically, when they get one car to stop, it forces the rest of us to stop, and then they bum-rush us all to beg for donations. Unfortunately, this was not going to be their day, as Murphy allows no one to approach the truck. Several of them were sharply barked at as we waited for the road to clear, and my left ear's still ringing a bit. Thanks, pal. Thanks a lot.
The trip was great for Murphy though as we drove down the highway and through town. The weather was nice and he had his head out in the breeze. What a great day to be a dog.
"Oh, wait...where's this we're stopping? Wait! I know this place! Nooooooooooo! Not the VET! Nooooooooooo!"
Yep. The vet. Someone has been itching and scratching lately and I want to get that checked out. So in we go. I sign him in and then sit back and watch the dramatics as the aide comes out and takes his leash and tries to get him into the back.
I love this part, I really do. He pulls back, he screams, he tries to dig his feet into the slick tile floor without success; it's great drama indeed. I'd have videoed it but I had to be ready to jump in if he breaks away as he's managed to do before. But even though he fought the good (and loud) fight, he still eventually wound up back in the exam room while I headed off to run a few errands.
When I returned though, he was all calm and happy because they'd been spoiling him while I was gone, but now I was the one who was upset when I got the bill for the allergy meds and his summer flea and tick treatment. And the worst was yet to come as a sentence was imposed on both of us: Murphy needed treatment with a special shampoo before we started the meds. This meant another bath for him, the very thought of which was enough to make me ask if I couldn't just trade him in on a new pet, maybe one that likes baths. Predictably, the answer to that was no. So back to the Lair we came, pausing only long enough to bark at the firemen again as they were still stopping traffic. At least Murphy seems to enjoy that, so the day wasn't a total trauma scene for him. But once home, after I had a shot of Bushmills to steady myself, into the shower he went and the puppy sadness commenced anew.
To his credit, Murphy handled this one a lot better than the one from a few days ago, probably because I used warm water this time. He sat there and let me scrub him and didn't even make a serious attempt at bolting from the tub, although I got more than a few "evil eye" looks from him. Finally the job was done and he was toweled off and transported quickly to the deck so that he could shake himself dry and commence to sulking.
Hey Murphy, you ok? We good? Want a cookie?
"I don't really want to talk to you right now. You should probably go back in the house and think about what you did. Just leave the cookie and go."