Paying the Price

Ever since the lovely stretch of days that was my own personal spring break, I have been paying the price.

The day following the nice afternoon at Sherwood Forest Faire, I embarked on one of the stupider moves I've made in recent history. Every one of the furry children was due for a shot and/or annual checkup and I decided to haul the entire herd over to Elgin to see the vet en masse. I normally try to make two of these trips a year, once for the cats and once for the dogs, and how I managed to end up with everybody needing a shot at the same time, I do not know. But I decided that I might as well gird my loins and get the whole thing out of the way in one fell swoop, so I loaded 5 pet carriers into the car and pointed the car northward.

I do not have any pets at the moment who are good travelers. The dogs get queasy and nervous and the cats - well, the cats get pissed off. They do not like being removed from their cozy nap perches and crammed into a tiny container and hauled 20 miles for the privilege of getting a needle stuck in their collective hiney. Boo and Dixie generally settle for giving me nasty glowers from the pet carriers and then acting like wild panthers when loosed from their prisons in the exam room. You would not believe how loud Boo can hiss and how far across the room he can spit when he is not pleased. (I have been called on several occasions after dropping him off on the way to work with the plea to be allowed to administer anesthesia to the little devil so they can get whatever needs to be done done.)Dixie is not that bad, but she has perfected the technique of suddenly anchoring her position by digging her rear claws into the stomach of whoever has hold of her. I have several pock marks in my abdominal area where she has pulled that stunt with me.

Then there is Scout. Scout does not suffer in silence. Scout begins to inform me of her displeasure the instant she is placed in the car. She continues to inform me of her wrath with steadily increasing volume for the entire 20 miles. I've tried cajoling her. Yowl. I've tried sternly telling her to cease and desist. YOwl. I've tried ignoring her. YOWL! By the time we reach our destination, Mommy has developed a nervous twitch and a serious need for some soothing liquid tranquilizer.

I at least knew what I was in for, as did the lady doctor we have worked with for many years. The brand new vet assistant was in a state of consternation when she saw us arrive. Five animals for one long appointment was nothing she had experienced before and the thought of putting the cats and the dogs into one exam room together appalled her. She asked the doctor if she should take the dogs into another room and was told that no, it would be okay to put the entire bunch in the large exam room and she would do the exams in the room with the owner. You could tell the assistant thought the doctor was out of her mind. The doctor pointed out that they all lived together in one house and knew how to co-exist peacefully.

And, indeed, we had no problem with the cats getting their exams while the dogs ran around the room getting into everyone's business. The only real trouble was when they hit Boo with the first of three needles and he started his spitting and hissing routine. He was entirely aware of who was the target of his anger and it was not his dog buddies. If he could have drawn some doctor or vet assistant blood, he would have been a very satisfied cat. We did all of us learn a lesson, however. If you are going to give Boo a topical de-wormer treatment, start with that. By the time we reached that point, he let us know in no uncertain terms that he would be taking the life of whoever tried to put that goop on him. (It took two days before he relaxed enough that I finally got the job done in the comfort of home.)

Thankfully all three of the cats are so glad to get past the needle sticks that they all willingly return to their carriers and give me the silent treatment all the way home. (I try to give Scout the idea that this tortures and upsets me.) After paying the bill for this little adventure, I felt rather queasy and annoyed myself.

The last day of my spring break, which was also my birthday, I spent on indulging myself. One of the benefits of reaching the half-century mark (never mind how many years ago) is earning the privilege of joining "Club 50" at Beall's, where I do a lot of my clothes shopping. Every Tuesday we matronly ladies descend on the store, ready to claim our 20% discount on all purchases. I spent a very productive 2 hours there and came home with a nice fat bag full of summer outfits in spring colors.

So ended my official vacation. I got a lot done, ran around and enjoyed myself thoroughly. I was not at all ready to get back to work. I felt good.

That lasted until the next weekend.....

LSW