Yesterday was a wild and woolly weather day. Well, probably not too much wool unless you were wearing under your frickin’ raincoat, because it was pouring something fierce. Needless to say, that would, of course, also have been the day that I had to take Scout to the vet.
Molly loathes rain. She fears thunder. If there is even the slightest hint of thunder in the air, she hides under the bed and refuses to come out for kisses, Begging Strips, or steak. She does, however, love to go for rides in the car. She also is irritated by Scout.
So when I walked in yesterday, telling Scout that we were going to go for a ride, I heard the unmistakable sounds of Molly scooting out from under the bed. It didn’t do any good to tell her that Scout was going to the doctor; she still kept spinning in circles and looking up at me with excited anticipation on her face. I’m not sure what she did when I took him out and closed the door in front of her face. But I’m gessing it involved a bad word and a trip back under the bed.
Unlike Molly, Scout apparently does not love car rides. I had to pick him up and carry him to the car because he seemed to think that he would melt if he walked out in the rain. I don’t fault him for that, because Molly seems to feel the same way. And I opened the car door and put him in. And he ran back out. And I picked him up again, and somehow managed to get him inside and hold him there while I got my handbag (aka suitcase) and big butt inside and get the door shut. The poor baby was shaking violently. I wonder if he thought I was taking him away to another place. Or maybe he knew we were going to the vet. But he squirmed and wriggled all the way there, and I had to hold his collar with my right hand while I steered with my left hand. This was necessary to prevent him from climbing up my arm and onto my face, or else down my leg and under the gas pedal.
He was an angel in the waiting room, and an angel in the exam room (although he began shaking again in the exam room). He weighs 20.5 pounds, so I’d overestimated his weight. Of course, I was trying to carry the suitcase and him at the same time, so no wonder. And he’s perfectly healthy. No intestinal parasites, no fever, no congestion. He got his claws trimmed, got 2 shots and didn’t even cuss. He was much easier to keep still on the care ride home, fortunately, and I congratulated myself on getting through it comparatively well. Joe got home just after we did, and he kindly took Molly for her own private ride. I took the opportunity to give Scout his heartworm preventative, thinking that he’d snap it up just like Molly does. He looked at it, licked it, and ran to the door and cried for Joe and Molly. Lather, rinse, and repeat. He would not eat that thing no matter what! I finally got a slice of cheese, gave him a few bits, then tried to give him the pill. Nope, he spat it out. I then wrapped it up in a bit of cheese; he ate the cheese and spat out the pill. Bear in mind that these things taste like beef–Molly loves them, and would gladly eat a dozen if we’d let her. Finally I wrapped it in a triple layer of cheese and held his mouth shut while he chomped on it. I thought I heard a little “ptoooie,” but didn’t see the pill anywhere. Maybe he was just spitting out of relief that I was leaving him alone at last.
He gets to go back to this vet on April 8th to get his booster shots; and he gets to go to the other vet on April 24th to get fixed. That sounds like I think he’s broken, and of course he’s not.
Molly had a grooming appointment today; I was supposed to rush home at 10:30 this morning, pick her up and take her to the groomers, then rush back home and wait for the guy to come measure our doors. But Joe kindly took Molly to the groomers on his way to work. And since the door guy wasn’t coming until 11:15, I was planning to leave work at 11. But he called me at 10:35 to say that he was running early and was sitting in front of my house. So I said I’d be there in 7 minutes (it actually took 8), and left. He measured the front door, and talked about where rotting wood pieces would need to be replaced. No problem; we know that would have to be done. I then walked to the back door with him. Alas! The floor by the back door is also rotted, and they won’t put on a door until the floor’s fixed. So he didn’t even bother measuring the back door.
Getting the kitchen/dining room floor fixed is high on the list of priorities, but not higher than new doors. Unfortunately, the store from which we are purchasing the doors and hiring a contractor to install said doors disagrees. So we can get the front door put on, but the back door will have to wait until the floor’s done. When will that get done? Heaven only knows. This stuff’s not cheap to have done, and I don’t have any idea of how to do it myself. I can lay peel-and-stick vinyl, but replacing rotted-out underflooring? No clue.
Oh, and Scout’s housebreaking seems to go only so far. Because yesterday he peed on a wood box that we keep on the floor to sort mail in, and he pooped on a sheet that was on the floor in one of the bedrooms. And last night I had a nightmare that I’d brought him to work with me and he pooped everywhere, including the floor of the vice president’s office.
Poop dreams. There has to be something less gross to dream about.