For the last six-months we have been "trying" to make it to our vet's Tuesday night shot clinic to get the girl's shots squared away before the baby comes. Every Tuesday something has come up; its rained, American Idol was premiering, Darby was "not in a good place" emotionally, etc. There is always an excuse.
You may wonder why we dread taking the girls to the vet so much. Well the answer is simple; they are rotten dogs. Big rotten dogs. They don't listen, Darby sheds hysterically, jumps, and whines. Tess is into everything, always manages to get off leash, and generally takes a huge poo on the floor in the middle of the office (she has a nervous sphincter). In short: they are hard-to-manage, strong, stinky, destruction machines. Experience has taught us that "going to the vet," is a two-person job. We always leave with cheeks red with embarrassment (and exertion), raised eyebrows from the receptionist ("those two have no business owning dogs!") and a fistful of training pamphlets forced upon us as they rush us out the back door.
This week, I got fed up with our excuses and I decided to be brave. I devised a plan which included a new vet (I think we all needed a fresh start!) around the corner from our house. I would walk the girls to their appointment, therefore avoiding the logistical nightmares of squeezing my belly into the backseat to buckle Darby and Tess into their seat belts, sandwiching the newly installed car seat between their hairy, slobbery hides. Plus, I would get a jump start on #2 of my weekend to-do list (see above post). In theory, the walk would tire them out enough that they would actually behave in the vets office and we would arrive there calm with clean colons (at least from Tess) so that no unfortunate accidents would take place in reception. The doctor and nurses would fall in love with Darby and Tess, give them a clean bill of health, complement me on my exemplary parenting practices, and we would all bask in the glory of knowing that we had another year before we began this nightmare again.
Well, I am proud to report: Our proactive strategies worked! This was the best vet visit the girls have ever had! No one pooped, there was marginal jumping, and the vet (who looked just like Uncle Rusty and had vintage Rock&Roll posters decorating the walls) even agreed that Darby bears a striking resemblance to Julia Roberts. Yay! As we walked home, I congratulated the girls on their excellent behavior skills and I looked forward to giving a good report to Brakes this evening.
As it turned out Brakes had made plans to meet up with our good friends, M&E for dinner. I thought this was fortuitous timing, as I was still on a high over how well-behaved our girls were at the vet and I was looking forward to bragging about them to M&E. You see, M&E adopted a dog last November and the transition has been far from easy. Brakes and I have enjoyed commiserating with them and sharing some of our "tails" of doggy-woe. It was going to be nice, even inspiring, to have a good story to report tonight. At dinner, I introduced the subject by asking for an update on Miss Baily and M breezily said, "Oh she's doing much better now. In fact we are starting agility training tomorrow."
WTF! AGILITY TRAINING! I was just stoked that Tess didn't take a poo on the floor; our girls are nowhere near agility training. (In fact, Tess failed out of two obedience training schools. It was recommended we seek private coaching.) Sigh. I am trying really hard not to get caught up in this whole competitive parenting thing but seriously: Agility training! I guess I can still take comfort in the fact that their dog doesn't have any celebrity look-a-likes. So there. Humph.
Here is a picture of Darby and I. Please tell me you think she looks like Julia Roberts:
There is something about her eyes and that smile! Do you see it?
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