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lathanyEver since we got Reeve, Dom has been responsible for his vet trips, essentially annual. It made sense as Dom was self-employed and worked from home. However, now he's employed I'm the one with the shorter, more flexible hours. So, from this year, I agreed to take him. Better yet, Beatrice was around and would come along.
Reeve never liked his annual MOT. He didn't like the injections, nor being weighed and he sometimes had the indignity of a thermometer up the bum. But it was a one-off, right?
We went off with our puss three weeks ago. I found the place and drove in without wanging the car (the drive is narrow). We took him in and waited. Unfortunately, this wasn't going to be a smooth trip. He was underweight, so the vet wanted to take a blood test for his thyroid. However, Reeve Was Not Up For This. She called in the receptionist and three of us wrestled him (Bea wisely backed out) and failed to get a good sample on both shaved paws. At this point we had a very upset animal, so we were packed off with a tranquiliser pill and an appointment for two days later.
We went back, with a much more docile animal and handed him over. This time she had another vet to help and Bea and I were sent out for a walk. Twenty minutes later we returned and it was done, but apparently he was "wriggly".
A phone call that afternoon confirmed that the poor puss did have a thyroid issue, so I went back the following day, alone, and collected his medicine.
Today was the three-week follow-up appointment. Reeve was more perky and, having explained the appointment needs to the receptionist on the phone ("I remember him!" she said immediately) there was an assistant. Bea and I were sent out and they managed to get a blood sample fairly quickly.
This afternoon's call was confirmation that he has improved but needs to put on more weight so his dose is upped to three times a day (which, incidentally, he also doesn't like, but doesn't involve the cat spaceship).
I'm pretty certain all the yelling from him in the car on the way home was a mixture of swear words and a request to get Dom back.
Reeve never liked his annual MOT. He didn't like the injections, nor being weighed and he sometimes had the indignity of a thermometer up the bum. But it was a one-off, right?
We went off with our puss three weeks ago. I found the place and drove in without wanging the car (the drive is narrow). We took him in and waited. Unfortunately, this wasn't going to be a smooth trip. He was underweight, so the vet wanted to take a blood test for his thyroid. However, Reeve Was Not Up For This. She called in the receptionist and three of us wrestled him (Bea wisely backed out) and failed to get a good sample on both shaved paws. At this point we had a very upset animal, so we were packed off with a tranquiliser pill and an appointment for two days later.
We went back, with a much more docile animal and handed him over. This time she had another vet to help and Bea and I were sent out for a walk. Twenty minutes later we returned and it was done, but apparently he was "wriggly".
A phone call that afternoon confirmed that the poor puss did have a thyroid issue, so I went back the following day, alone, and collected his medicine.
Today was the three-week follow-up appointment. Reeve was more perky and, having explained the appointment needs to the receptionist on the phone ("I remember him!" she said immediately) there was an assistant. Bea and I were sent out and they managed to get a blood sample fairly quickly.
This afternoon's call was confirmation that he has improved but needs to put on more weight so his dose is upped to three times a day (which, incidentally, he also doesn't like, but doesn't involve the cat spaceship).
I'm pretty certain all the yelling from him in the car on the way home was a mixture of swear words and a request to get Dom back.
