Lesson seventeen: I should probably just retrain as a vet

In my top 5 stressful situations* is a vets trip. Today it was inevitable as the King of Melancholy broke a nail. Leaving one mutt at home isn’t an option unless I want a new basement dug out, several noise complaints and some surprise interior design. So that leaves two options;
 
1. Take both dogs in, maybe they’ll give each other confidence? Except Poo Monter hates other dogs in confined spaces and Spotty Crotch loves invading other people’s personal space. Usually results in high blood pressure, hot sweats and getting charged double.

2. Take both but leave one in the car. Lesser of two evils though not an opinion in summer. Hear that dogs? DO NOT INJURE YOURSELVES IN SUMMER. And even in the cooler months this has led to multiple ‘fuckidy fuck fucks’ as I forget to turn the alarm off, three chewed seatbelts, one fancy dog-keeper-innerer-bag and eventually, sod it let’s just get a van.

That was all before children. Now alarms need to be set 4 hours before the appoint to allow for wrestling them in the car, persuading two dogs in the car, a level crossing that hates me, scrambling two dogs out of the car then one confused dog back in the car, dragging two kids out of the car without losing the one dog already free and getting everyone across the car park and in the inevitably full waiting room with all limbs intact.

Then comes assessing the room for the least problematic available seat, sign in and attempt to get the damn dog to sit still on the weighing scales for half a second.

At this point the older toddler is poking contraband through cat cages. I have no idea where the smallest small is. I assume either someone’s going to get a surprise when they open their cat cage or he’s found a woman of a certain age, made that look he makes and swindled a snack. Every inch of the room has been sniffed and weed on. The smallest makes an appearance to copy the dog. All dog distraction food has been eaten and all toddler food has been fed to the cat that’s throwing up.

When our name is finally called I know what awaits me; a bill big enough to make me redo the meal planning for the month but just below the insurance excess and a lecture about canine dental hygiene. Interestingly if Mr DD goes he gets nothing but praise for being such a diligent owner and bringing them in. I could point out the gender bias here but wouldn’t want to start a thing, so won’t… *cough*the bar for parenthood and pet ownership is lower for men*cough cough*.

So I get home, unload them all again, breath, pour a gin and realise it’s only 9.30am and another ten trucking hours until bedtime.


* 1. Hairdressers. 2. Road diversions. 3. Eye contact with a stranger. 4. Vets. 5. Watching Mr DD grate cheese. HE GRATES HIS FINGERS.

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