A Trip to the Vet's Office

Monday I remembered for the 50th time that the dogs need to be registered by the end of the month.  Deciding not to put it off any longer, I began hunting for prior license info, rabies info and all the paperwork that entails.  I had a sneaky suspicion Ivy was in need of her rabies shot, but I was certain Max had his.  I called the vet for some help only to discover that neither dogs were up to date on their shots.  Damn.

So I made an appointment for Tuesday afternoon for physicals and rabies shots.  Both dogs at once.  Yikes.  Fortunately, very fortunately, I was able to pin down one of the teenagers to watch Ben.  Two dogs and a two year old at the vet is guaranteed trouble.  The kind of trouble that would probably have them asking me to find another vet.

So yesterday afternoon I packed both dogs in my car, one riding in the front rifling through my purse for leftover goldfish and cheese stick wrappers, and the other in the back eating hidden snacks from the carseat and then breathing down my neck.  (Bonus:  My car and purse got cleaned out yesterday!)  Unfortunately, Max is stronger than me, and when teamed up with Ivy, the two of them can pretty much haul me where ever they want.  Needless to say we did not make a grand entrance to the vet's office.

Both were weighed and then ushered into an exam room before any other dogs or cats showed up.  That would have made things VERY interesting.  Max, who is nearly 10, had an ok exam.  He's old, his eyes are getting cloudy, he's losing weight, and has a bunch of fatty lump deposits under his skin, but seems to be doing well.  The vet prescribed more food to be added to his diet to help fight the weight loss (that's right, Max has a new best friend) and at some point recommended we do a Senior Chem Panel to see why he's losing weight.  Since said Chem Panel costs over $200, we're going to hold of on that for a bit.

Ivy was declared healthy, but crazy.  Yup, the vet said she has a pretty severe case of the crazies.  (My words, not hers.)  She has to go back for a thyroid check and after that is done she will be prescribed a whopping dose of prozac and referred to a doggie behaviorist.  That's right.  Therapy for my dog.  (sigh)  We are obviously not in a financial place where intense therapy is something we can really consider for our dog, but I will be trying to at least get some guidance from a local dog behaviorist.  Prozac won't "cure" Ivy, but it might make her more responsive to the therapy.

(And in case you're wondering, my dog really is that crazy.  When the fuel truck delivers fuel at any of the neighbors houses, she FREAKS OUT the second she hears that "beep...beep" of the truck backing up.  If the cat tenses up watching a leaf blow around the yard she FREAKS OUT.  And God forbid a stranger actually knocks on our door, she completely loses it.  We can't have people over, we can't leave her alone and anything unexpected, scary or different is cause for an attack of hysterics.  It's not fun.)

Needless to say, my trip to the vet yesterday was less than enjoyable.  And all that so I can pay 14 stupid dollars to get them registered.  Some days I hate being a responsible citizen.