Only a Flesh Wound
You know that feeling when you love someone like crazy, but you’re embarrassed to be seen with him/her in public?
Don’t tell me you don’t. ’Cause I know you do.
Hell, I’ve been that person to someone else on many, many occasions.
And I realized today I feel that way about my dogs. Remember these monsters?
I had to take them to the vet today to get some shots.
The problem is not that my dogs were scared to see the vet. Nor were they scared to get their shots.
The problem is that going to the vet is their absolute favorite thing in the world, along with going for walks, going for car rides, getting treats, getting baths, going to bed, going to the kennel, eating food, eating bugs, sniffing butts… get my point?
I could be like, “Hey guys, do you want to go get a colonoscopy today?”
And they’d be like, “OMG, hellz yah we do! That’s our favorite thing!”
Knowing the vet visit was upon us, I tried to tire them out in the yard this morning. But it was useless. When I brought them in and pulled out their car harnesses so they wouldn’t be bouncing off the walls of the Tracker while I was trying to drive, the excitement ensued.
They tried so hard to be good and sit still while I put on the harnesses. But their little bodies wiggled uncontrollably as adrenaline coursed through their systems. The ride itself was fairly uneventful, thanks to these godsend harnesses. You can see them here (although when they wear them, my dogs don’t look quite so… stoned.)
But when we got to the vet’s office… wow. Let’s just say that when I finally managed to get them across the parking lot, into the building, and safely to a seat in the waiting area, I had no less than 3 new bruises and what felt uncomfortably close to a broken finger (turns out it’s not – I’m just a baby). And I’m sure it was hilarious to the uniformed military guys standing outside the military police dog training area right next door. Hil-frickin’-arious.
They were so bad that when one of the receptionists started to call me to the front desk to fill out some paperwork, she took one look at me and said, “You know what? You just stay sitting right there.” She did not say it with a smile.
I was that person. That horrible person who can’t control her pets. And that receptionist was judging me, dammit!
But here’s the thing. My dogs are wicked smart. When we’re alone, just hanging out, shooting the breeze, it’s nothing but this:
And I can’t handle the cuteness. And they know I can’t handle the cuteness.
And then we go out. And the cuteness is gone. And other people don’t see what I see when we’re home. Oh no.
All they see is this:
And OMG this:
And so they judge. And I guess I can’t blame them. Because I’m never going to be a “dog whispering” type of person. I’m always going to be more of a “let-them-drag-me-across-the-gravel-and-hope-it’s-no-more-than-a-flesh-wound-so-I-can-laugh-it-off” type of person.
That’s just the kind of girl I am.