Yes, vets are cool. But it has to be the right kind. Perhaps I ought to explain.
Dad’s a vet. I am told that he used to fly around in big shiny things and wait for The Big One. I have no idea what that is all about. I would like a Big Bone, but I don’t think it’s the same thing. No, this isn’t the type of vet to which I refer.
Dad drives a Vette. Yeah, that’s cool, I suppose. It makes noise. It goes fast. But it will only be really cool if I can drive it, and dad says that I’m not old enough yet. That is also the wrong kind of vet.
No, the type of vet that I am talking about is the kind who works in the neat office with lots of wonderful smells, and sometimes other dogs and purry things to talk with. The kind who gives out doggy treats. The kind who has the needles (OK, well, maybe it’s not all cool).
Mom and Melanie took me to see the vet yesterday. The humans there all love me, they say “ooo” and “ahhh” and “Isn’t he just the nicest puppy” and they give me treats and pats on the head. I showed them how well I can sit on command (well, they think it’s at their command … I was just tired of standing).
I got my next round of shots — should be all I get for a while — and they took my temp (not a fun experience for a modest puppy). They weighed me and I’m now a full 50 pounds! That is twice as much as when I first came home. But Dr. Clark says that I am not a fat or overweight puppy, so I think it is a good 50 pounds. And I can have even more treats!
Most of the time while I was there Melanie led me around on the leash. She was very good in handling me and I like having her to play with. When I got home I gave her a big lick on her cheek! I don’t think she appreciated that.