On being Moose



I’m going to meet my grandson very soon so needed to get the dog’s kennel cough inoculations updated to meet boarding requirements prior to my departure.  We toddle off to the vet where Rosie is happy just getting in a random lick while she gets pricked.  Hmmm. 

Moose, not so much.  He apparently remembers his hock surgery in February, or maybe recalls being forced to wear the cone of shame for such a long recovery.  Regardless, he is not fond of the vet.   

He was bucking and flailing and growling and just trying to get the hell out of there.  He is a powerful dog, (he’s been looking noticeably thinner to me, Terry concurs, but weighed in at a whopping 128, up three pounds…)  Who is now labeled aggressive…  We were sent home Tuesday without the shots but with a handful of sedatives (for him) and an appointment on Thursday.  I was totally pooped and wishing for my own sedatives.

Went back again today with the Mooster sedated.  I was relegated to the waiting room lest I acerbate his bad behavior.  It still wasn’t enough.  He was put totally out for the exam.  The vet wanted to know if he is an outside dog?  Because his coat and ears are so muddy.  Nope, that cause he swims in the mill pond at every opportunity.  She thinks he needs a spa day, (again Terry concurs as does Melissa.)   

It’s been a traumatic day for the dog.  He is just panting on the cool kitchen floor now, farting away.  That’s my boy.



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