I never did tell you why I got mad at the vet's office, and stormed out, and it's official. Get the papers in order. I have become my grandmother.
Since 2008--way back in aught eight, when I moved here, I've been going to that vet. I forget how I found them, but they've seen me through all my iterations of cats and dogs. The cats formerly known as my alive cats, who now serve as skeletons in my yard, Ruby and Francis.
Ruby DeLuna
Francis Carport
They've taken care of lost-them-in-the-divorce Winston and Henry and Anderson.
Henry and Winston. I love the post that accompanies this picture. I was one of my favorites. BABY HENRY.
They also saw me through poor dead Roger and poor dead Tallulah and now Lily and Iris and Edsel and now Lottie. A LOT OF PETS, is what I am saying to you. CASH COW, is what I am saying to you.
The point is, you can never get in there. I've complained about this before. They're open till noon on Saturdays and those Saturdays are always booked. They close from noon till 2:00 on weekdays. And while they stay OPEN till 6:00, you can't get in after 5:00.
THANKS.
I mean, whose convenience are we aiming toward, here? Cause it feels like NOT THE CUSTOMERS'.
This has been a constant struggle for me. I wonder if I could be more dramatic right now.
But, I mean, Jesus CHRIST a lot of my money goes to the vet. The reason I don't have a new nose is because the vet has it.
So Lottie got her first shots there on May 13. How puppies work is, they get all sorts of shots and then allegedly they need "boosters" until they're 16 weeks old, and why we can't just get them one round of shots when they're 16 weeks old is beyond me. I long for the days when you just tied a dog out back and when it got sick you shot it. Now THAT was economical.
Anyway, she needed this alleged booster three weeks after May 13, and they told me to come in June 3. As June 3 approached, it occurred to me I didn't know what time the appointment was. I knew for sure it was June 3, because I was excited to see what she weighed so I was kind of counting the days. On June 2nd, I called the vet to see what convenient time my appointment was.
"Oh you don't HAVE an appointment," they said.
Well, yes I did. I remember making it. I just don't remember what time. I plan to dig through Lottie's paperwork to prove it, just to myself, but I know I'm right. I'd been looking forward to this visit since May 13.
Of course, they had nothing available Saturday, or at all June 3, but they said, "You could do a drop-off in the morning."
Well, okay. That'd be fine. And even though they don't take APPOINTMENTS at lunch, you could still go in and get your dog. So I said okay to the man.
Do you know anyone who gets over things less than I do? You get me a thing to be obsessed with and I stick with it for life.
Anyway.
I DO EVERYTHING FRENETICALLY on Friday morning, and write a hasty blog post, and generally rush around like a chili fool, and slap a leash on Lottie who hates the car and drive there with her pawing and whining and climbing all over me like she's Tenzing Norgay. He was famous for pawing.
June's blog. Stay for the Mt. Everest references.
We get there, and I'm trying to hold her rather than let her on the floor because parvo, and she's wriggling with every ounce of asshole she's got in her, which by the way is a lot. Lotta asshole. Asshole? She's got a Lottie.
I wait for someone with a stupid Schnauzer to check in, and isn't it funny how you judge people by their pets? Maybe you don't. Maybe you are a magNIFicent person who loves Christmas and doesn't feel alive unless you're serving others. You probably own something awful like a Schipperke.
"Ma'am? You can't do a drop-off for a dog who hasn't had all her shots."
But.
But you...
YOU TOLD ME TO. You TOLD me to bring her in. I KILLED my own self getting here early, which is not my strong suit, so that I can give you HUNDREDS OF DOLLARS for this whole scammy bullshit SHOT shenanigans you got going, and now you won't even TAKE MY DOG?
"You can wait. We can fit you in when we can."
"I have three deadlines today," I said, juggling the dog. Not literally, because that woulda been hilarious.
"Well, we can schedule you for next week."
Jesus. I mean, for years I've been resenting their horrid hours. I've let it go. I let it go when they sent paperwork killing Edsel and not Tallulah. I mostly did this because I love my vet. LOVE her. She really cares, and goes the extra mile. But Jesus Christ. I can't GIVE my money to you people. I have to BEG you to take my cash.
So you know what? They don't get my cash any longer.
I left without a word, which is so Evelyn Sommerfeld's signature move. I even held my head up the way she used to when she was storming out of a place. She's stormed out of the best places in Saginaw, Michigan. Department stores, doctor's offices, banks. Her own house. My 13th birthday party.
But really. Am I wrong, here?
I don't care if you think I'm wrong. [held is held high]
On the drive to home to drop off poor unvaccinated Lottie, I called a nearby vet and asked if they were open during lunch. They were. I said, "I have four pets, including an 11-week-old puppy. I need to get in as soon as I can."
They were delighted. As you can imagine. The June Gardens wing of the New Vet's Office. I saw them that very day, and they were lovely. "That's a very smart dog you've got there, and I see what you...mean about her."
I will miss my vet. Whenever I think of how I lost her, I get a pang of sadness. The stupid office hours are not her fault--she's the youngest vet there and they were instilled before her time.
I just want you to know that the whole time I've been writing this, I've barricaded Lottie and her boostered-shotted self in this room, with two huge laundry tubs, a bucket and a trash can, and I also have the back door open to the screen, and she ON HER OWN went outside and peed just now.
Probably her booster shots are what did it.
