Sunday, January 11, 2015

New Adventures for 2015

2015 is a new year.  Which means that we can ignore how little blogging I did in 2014 and start fresh.  I really WANT to do more blogging this year, like at least once a week.  Why?  Because I really want to write more, in general.  I'm not saying I'm the world's greatest writer-I'm not-but I'm not terrible either.  The more I write, the easier it becomes, the easier it becomes, the better I get.  Well in theory anyway.  A theory that I really need to put to the test.

With that said, I'm going to blog.

So, as you may or may not know, we have a Golden Retriever.  The dog and I have a love-hate relationship.  It is mostly hate, on both sides, but after nearly 11 years together, we've learned to tolerate each other.  On Friday, I had the pleasure of bringing him to the vet for blood work.  After boosting him in the car (he's a very old man) we made a slip-slidey trek to our vet.  Upon opening the car door I discovered he had no intent on getting out of the car.  Begging, pleading and bribing did not work, so I braced myself and hauled him out of the car.  It wasn't pretty, but he made it out. When we walked in the new lady at the desk asked me to get him to stand on the scale.  While this was a once easy feat, it has been complicated now by the fact that the dog does not like to step on weird feeling surfaces, like the scale, because he's afraid he's going to fall.  After a few minutes of bribing I got him on there.  For a second.  The lady behind the desk did not have much patience for us and said she got his weight.  Since it was a good 10 pounds more than usual I have a feeling she may have fudged the numbers a bit.  Anyway, she took him out back for his blood test while I waited.

Moments later she was back and (fortunately) the dog had behaved himself.  The desk lady gave me a bit of a scowl as she whipped out a lint roller "He's very hairy."

He's a golden retriever.  

"Uh, yeah," I said, "he's pretty hairy."

I paid my bill and left quickly.  As I mentioned, the dog and I have a relationship based mostly on hate.  So while I begged and pleaded with him to jump quickly back in the car, he ignored me and pooped in the parking lot.  And this was not just a poop.  This was an epic poop.  A walking poop that he had clearly been holding for DAYS in anticipation of ruining our trip to the vet.  It wasn't pretty.  And it was in the middle of the damn parking lot.

So, with another heft, I loaded the dog back up into the car. The car for the first time ever, was completely void of grocery bags.  So back into the office I trudged to ask for a poop bag.

The lady scowls at me.

"Hi, my dog pooped in the parking lot, do you have a bag or something I could use to clean it up?  Like a grocery bag or something?"

She sighs and climbs off her seat and offers me a poop bag.

A poop bag the size of a sandwich bag.  Clearly made for chihuahua poop.

I look at the bag.

I look at her.

She frowns.

I look at the bag.

I look at her scowl.

"Thank you!" I said cheerily as I took the sandwich bag from her.

Epic poop.  Sandwich bag.

Needless to say it was a fairly gross endeavor, but damn if I didn't get it all in that miniature chihuahua poo bag.  

There was not an outside trashcan.  And I was NOT going back in with a sack full-FULL-of poo.

It was a rather smelly ride home, which I'm fairly certain the dog enjoyed thoroughly.

**I actually have the best vet's office in the world and they have been nothing but wonderful to me and my pets.  I'm sure I will be able to say the same about this new desk person after we have had a few more interactions.

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