Visiting the vet (and other doggie dealings)

In Shelley and Zoey, Shelley Widhalm on November 15, 2015 at 11:30 am

Going to the vet made me really, really tired. I'm about to fall asleep here on my queen-size bed.

Going to the vet made me really, really tired. I’m about to fall asleep here on my queen-size bed.

My BFF Shelley spent some of her vacation this week sitting in front of a computer, working on her novel. Sheesh. She should have spent all of her free time with me, because I’m really cute and I’m her BFF.

My name is Zoey, and I’m the cutest dachshund ever.

The fact I’m cute didn’t stop my BFF from taking me to the vet on Monday and getting my nails trimmed right after. I was so traumatized, all I could do was take a nap and look sleepy when I wasn’t napping.

Luckily, the vet didn’t call my BFF to report a problem. The vet had told her no calls or no news meant good news.

The good news meant I was healthy.

Though unhappy, at least for a few hours.

Shelley’s mom, who she visited that day, said my eyes were glassy, and I wanted to say, “Wouldn’t your eyes be glassy if you were stuck with a really big needle for your bordetella shot? And if you were poked and prodded to see if you were healthy, too?”

The vet told Shelley I had good muscle tone and was at a good weight at 10.4 pounds. Yeah, I work at it. I take walks, well because Shelley makes me, as I’m attached at the other end of a pink leash. Can’t she just let me go for a stroll all by myself? She won’t even let me get too close to the edge of the sidewalk or walk across busy streets. She carries me. She’s kind of over-protective.

Maybe that’s a good thing, because it shows she loves me. But do you blame her?

I’m cute after all.


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