This past week, my first truly free weekend in a long while, involved Sam going back to the vet.  Fortunately, it was just for a nail trim and tush squeeze.  Yes, I know that’s not particularly delicate, but one of the joys with Sam is that she can’t express certain glands like other dogs and therefore has to have a little help.  It’s not pretty or particularly lady like, but it has to be done and it does make her feel better.

Unfortunately for Sam, I asked to be shown how to do all of the above.

One of the defining characteristics of me (and my closest friends) is the lack of a squeamish gene when it comes to bodily things (unless we’re talking gory movies and that’s a different matter).  I add the “bodily” caveat, because I do have a crazy phobias when it comes to wads of hair (thank you for that, Burger King) or teeming swarms of bugs; it’s not pretty if I stumble across those.

I was the gal who made the best lab partner – need something dissected, I’m in.  Out of gloves? No problem. Who needs ‘em?  (Although, I will say formaldehyde can do a real number on your skin and nails.  It’s just not Palmolive.)  Lots of blood? Let’s get something for that.  (I read something interesting the other day about people who faint at the sight of blood – that it’s linked to a primitive self-preservation trait that has been passed down through the ages – basically, your great great grand cave-dweller-pa might survive an attack if, at the sight of blood, he fainted and therefore looked dead – see, because of him, we survive today.  So, if you faint, it’s just genetics reminding the rest of us that we owe your family a debt of gratitude. Thank you.) 

So,  if you want to share your various war wounds, x-rays, gigantic blackened bruises and there’s no one who wants to look or is properly impressed that you survived, come on over.  Need someone to hold your hand while you’re having blood or bone marrow drawn?  I’m your girl.  Need someone in the operating room? If they allowed observers, I’d be there for you.  I can also pick up dead critters.  However, find someone else if you need someone to investigate the swarms of hairy pulsating crickets blocking your path.  Don’t you dare ask me, I may throw-up.  In fact just typing that is making me a tad nauseous. We’re all weird little creatures.  (Beth factoid: the only time I’ve ever screamed at a movie was while watching Indiana Jones: Temple of Doom where they have to stick their hand in the disgusting bug covered cubbyhole to pull some switch and … all the bugs… all over her… *shudder*)

Anyway, what I’m trying to say – Sam’s bum? No problem.

After being at the vet for over an hour, poor Sam left feeling rather violated and a little creeped out by her gloved mom who wrongly snickered at jokes made by the vet tech like “Sam, I’m going to the back to get some candles”.  Whereas, I left feeling like a tush squeezing pro (who would save about $300/year by being able to do something quite simple myself).  And yes, I get that you’re grossed out.

One small thing that did bug me and it’s more a pet etiquette thing.  Someone brought their very hyperactive, albeit cute, dog over to Sam without asking.  Now in general, I don’t have to worry about Sam.  She loves people (especially people with food).  But Sam on a good day gets anxious around other dogs and typically hides behind me until she gets comfortable with them.  Sam was extra anxious on Saturday especially after sitting in the lobby for nearly an hour. 

Anyway, here comes Happy McFlufferpants straining on his leash to get to Sam.  The owner tells me as she’s allowing her dog to dash up to Sam that he’s a very nice dog and I’m sure he is; seemed adorable especially at a distance of 10 feet.  Super anxious Sam tolerated the hopping and sniffing for about 5 seconds and the next thing we hear is Sam growling and barking – basically saying, “back up Flufferpants, I don’t want your fluffy well-coifed mane in my grill!”  The dog had to be pulled back, and we had to console a whimpering Sam.  All-in-all not particularly fun for me.

Finally, the last bit of Sam’s story for the week.  She’s decided that is she whimpers while the cats are drinking from the water bowl, they will step aside and let her have a turn.  This theory hasn’t really panned out for her, but it does seem to amuse the cats who appear to snort and drink a little more slowly.

And that wraps-up another week for Sam.