So, ok, we have 3 dogs. Two of them combined weigh like twenty pounds, the third is a forty-four pound beagle. Excuse me, (she looked at me when I wrote that) she is a forty-two pound beagle.

So here’s some background…

Maggie the Beagle: She is going to be 9 in January 2015 and she’s brilliant. We used to joke that she is community college material, no, she’s a genius. When she was a puppy she was drinking from a bowl, when there wasn’t much water left, she lifted her paw and set it down on the edge of the bowl so it would pool to one side. She did this without batting an eye. She broke the dog proof garbage can and has trained us to walk across the house to throw items from the kitchen away in the garage.

Charlie Freakin’ Brown (the dachshund): The pain in my ass and the apple of my eye. He can’t figure out how to push doors open with his nose but he can climb on top of 80% of the surfaces in the house and obtain whatever happens to be on them for his pleasure.

Roxy Freakin’ Face (the other dachshund): She’s community college material. We got her second hand (we also got Freakin’ second hand but he was still pretty young) at an elderly age. We are thinking she was 10-12 when we got her two years ago.   How can you throw a dog away after having her for 10 years? She doesn’t bother anybody, all she does is sleep all day, and she doesn’t really even eat much. How awful.  And no, we didn’t pick the name.

Ok, enough of that boring stuff.

Well, I reckon, about 18 months ago we had to take all three dogs to the vet at once (which is always a mistake). We go to Banfield which is located in PetSmart. They will let you bring your dog in in the morning so you can go about your day and they can work them in and they just call you when its time to get them. Kind of like daycare but with more needles (which if you go to daycare in Newark, it might be the same amount of needles.)

Charlie and Maggie we used to walk and if you have ever owned a hound you can hear my teardrops hitting the keyboard when I recall all the negotiating I would have to do in DC on a winter night when they catch wind of something and want to go on an expedition. We have a fence now and the backyard has cooties so I never go back there. That’s another story.

Where was I going with this?

Oh! They figured out how to wiggle out of their collars! Much like a toddler who doesn’t want to do something its mother wishes it to do, they go limp, roll over and wiggle around.

Anyway, where was I? We had all three dogs at the vet at the fucking crack of dawn. They want you there at 7:00 in the morning to drop them off. And this was when I was still drinking, so I was hungover and probably had day-old mascara all over my face. I may or may not have been wearing a bra.

As you can imagine, nobody wants to go to the vet, between all 5 of us, I think Jared was the only one who was pro-vet that morning. So we are talking to the nurse? Vet tech? Whatever they’re called, and I am not paying attention to Charlie all of a sudden I hear a familiar sound of his nails on tile. He has gotten out of his collar and is running toward the door.

I do not run at 7am while hungover.

Jared does not run at 7am. Ever.

We used to run together in the mornings, but that was at 8am a very long time ago.

Jared has a look of sheer panic, I figured we needed a new dog anyway, while we’re here at the pet store, we could probably pick one up.

The vet tech behind me screams, not just yells real loud, screams “DOOR!” and then two guys at the other end of the store respond with “DOOR!” in unison. I guess they closed and locked the doors so he would be unable to leave PetSmart. They bring him back and I put his collar back on and I put him on the floor. Because that is where he belongs, on the floor, because he is a dog.

For whatever reason the check in process is taking an extremely long time and we’re standing around doing whatever when I hear “DOOR!” again. I smiled to myself glad to know I am not the only one with a neurotic pet. I look down to tell Charlie that I am proud of him and he’s gone. And so is Maggie.

Meanwhile, Roxy wears a glow in the dark cat collar with a bell so we can hear her coming and we can see her in the dark. Since it’s a cat collar, she could have joined them on their quest for freedom since cat collars breakaway. But she didn’t, because she was too busy pooping on the floor.

Our dogs are returned to us and ultimately handed over to the vet tech who carries them away to the back where they will be stuck and pulled and things will be put in their butts but on that day, they deserved it.



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