Under the Weather

On Tuesday morning I had my scheduled check up with my buddy the vet.  Now, I know that some pups (and humans for that matter) dislike going to the doctor.  Not me.  I love visiting the vet because of all the attention I get.

Consider my normal trip to the vet:  As soon as I walk in the door, I'm greeted by the nice receptionists at the desk; a group of women Pa refers to as my "girlfriends."  They ooh and aah over me, and tell me that I'm the handsomest pup they've ever seen.  Next, I scan the room and size up the people and animals waiting for their appointments.  If the animal is friendly, I bunk noses with him; if the human is friendly I allow him to shower me with attention; and if no one is particularly friendly, I hang out next to the "adopt a cat" crate (I have to be careful though, in the past, some of those cats have tried swatting at my snout).  Anyway, when it's my turn to see the doctor, I rush into the room and jump right up onto the hydro-lift table/scale (heightening has always been a passion of mine).  Then the doctor complements me on my sparkling personality and gleaming white teeth.  Sometimes, he does things I don't like (like clipping my nails, giving me shots, or suggesting that I might want lose a little weight), but that's okay because he makes up for it with praise.  Then, when it's time to go home, I mooch a cookie off my "girlfriends" at the desk.

But despite all the perks of going to the vet, sometimes, there are less than desirable side effects.  Tuesday's trip, which involved me receiving not one but two shots in the butt, proved that point.

First of all, whenever I come home from the vet, I am completely spent; it's exhausting, after all, being so social, handsome, and lovable.  Anyway, as soon as I got home on Tuesday morning, I high-tailed it to my pillow and slept like a log until Sister came home from work at lunch time.  With a good nap under my collar, I wasted no time in immediately taking part in my daily lunchtime ritual of barking hysterically at Sister until she caves and gives me my squeaker-less (I killed the squeaker last Friday) squeaker toy.  An hour later, Sister traded me a cookie for my toy (I'm not allowed to play with my squeaker toy all day long because a) my family wants it to be a special treat that will keep me occupied when silence is needed and b) I'm prone to ripping it apart just for the fun of it), patted me on the head, and returned to work.  I, in turn, returned to my pillow and fell fast asleep.

But while I woke up refreshed in the afternoon, by night time I was no longer feeling well.  I felt sluggish, tired, and my butt hurt.  A sympathetic offering of my squeaker-less squeaking toy and a new fluffy pillow (I shredded the last one) lifted my spirits slightly, but I just wasn't myself.

I began mournfully whining at around 2am.

Now, for those who don't know, I am particularly pitiful when I'm sick, hurt, or not feeling well.  Lucky for me, my family is super sympathetic and all three have spent at least one night over the last five and a half years caring for me when my tummy hurt or something else troubled me.  On this particular evening, Pa offered to sit up with me.  He also gave me half an aspirin so that I'd be comfortable enough to sleep.

First thing Wednesday morning, Ma called the vet.  He told her that I was having a reaction to one of the shots he gave me and that I'd likely feel better by the following morning (and if I didn't, Ma could bring me in and he'd take a look at me).

When Ma left for work after speaking to the vet, Sister took over as my caregiver.  I curled up next to her on my pillow and she rubbed my back while I took a nap.  When I woke up two hours later, she gave me back my squeaker-less squeaker toy and took me outside for some fresh air.  Then we came in and I took another nap.

The next thing I knew it was three hours later and Sister had stopped by the house during her dinner break to check on me.  Feeling a little bit more like myself, I greeted her at the door with Monkey Monk.  After rubbing my back for a couple of minutes, Sister returned to work and I returned to, you guessed it, my nap.

As the evening progressed, I felt more and more like myself.  I even managed to rev up the energy to gut one of my plush toys and grub for ice cream.  Hopefully I'll be back to my normal troublesome self by morning.