Per usual, I severely underestimated my dogs.
Well, my dog. Just one of them. The other... well, let's get back to the story.
So we have to bring in a stool sample each time we go to the vet to test for all sorts of disgusting ailments. This is easy enough, considering how long the walk is. Carly quickly and happily obliged on a nice, clean patch of sidewalk. Mac, however, waited until we were nearly a block away, then chose a lovely pile of wood chips upon which to make his deposit. We had to explain to the vet tech that no, he did not ingest the wood chips, he just really enjoys pooping on a variety of textures. He's that kind of dog.
Now, I am a pedestrian and am pretty good at estimating how long it will take me to walk any distance. I figured it would take about 30 minutes, so we left the house 35 minutes before we needed to be at the vet's. I like to be early. What I failed to take into account was my walking speed at 8 AM and my Partner in Crime's walking speed at 8 AM. Or 12 PM. Or 9 PM, really, it's all the same. Carly and I moved along at our brisk pace of about 4 steps per second, while Mac and my P.I.C. moved at their "brisk" pace of about 4 steps per minute. So yeah, we were a little late to the vet.
Then there's the medical records: we don't have any for Mac. Surprising, right? A dog with 9 years of abuse and neglect wouldn't have medical records? In other positive news, Mac has gained almost 10 pounds in the past 5 months, and Carly has lost 6 pounds in the past year. Typical, right?
And the best part of the visit: the needles. Carly has had bad reactions to vaccines in the past, so they gave her two pre-vaccine meds to keep her from getting hives and swelling again. She happily hopped up on the table, assuming that the vet, like all humans on this planet, was there to love and adore her. His version of "love," using needles, was not exactly her cup of tea. Leave it to my only dog who has teeth to bite the vet. Three times. "Occupational hazard," he said with a smile. I still felt awful.
So Carly took a break to let the meds kick in while the vet took a peek at Mac. To say he was surprised to look into Mac's mouth and see nubs is not accurate. He was saddened, to be sure, but not surprised, unfortunately. He told us stories from his previous practice in Missouri that would make your blood boil and your stomach turn. Suffice it to say that Mac was just another in a long line of statistics to him. But he politely sat while he was poked, squeezed and otherwise examined. The vet brought in a tech to help with the vaccines and blood withdrawal, assuming that the 55-pound beast with an abusive past might struggle.
I'm pretty sure Mac had no idea he was being poked with a needle.
Much like his sister, Mac is under the impression that all humans have one purpose: to love and to scratch him. So while the vet was busy stealing blood from his leg, Mac was busy bathing the face of the vet tech. She must have been salty; he only licks salty faces. The vet explained that when Mac's teeth were filed down, they certainly hit nerves there, so he had some nerve damage. Which is why he feels nothing when he pries the bars off of crates, for example, or chews holes in doors. Considering how much physical pain he was submitted to in his early life, it's highly possible that his pain receptors just stopped firing. They were on overdrive, so they packed up and quit on him.
Big surprise.
Carly's turn. Mac? That sweet boy who licked the vet while his blood was drawn? He's a good boy. His sister? She needed 3 people to restrain her.
That's my girl.
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