It wouldn’t be a vacation for my parents if I didn’t have to take their pet to the vet at least once. Sure enough, Maggie, who suffers from terrible allergies, managed to scratch half her face off last night and required a vet’s visit this afternoon. Of course, it occurred on my busiest day this week, but I was able to rearrange some interviews I was scheduled to conduct, and I dragged her in.
And by drag, I literally mean drag. She is a huge wimp, and REFUSED to walk willingly into the vet’s office. Once inside, she slid under the chair I was sitting in, and had to be pulled out by her leash so the vet could examine her. Poor dog is now on antihistamines and needs to go for allergy tests.
When we were leaving the examination room, Maggie suddenly took off, thrilled to be let free. She dragged me toward the door, and as I tried to get control of her, I said, “Margaret! Stop it!”
The vet’s assistant looked up from the desk. “Margaret?” she asked, laughing.
“That’s her full name,” I said, pulling Maggie over to the desk to pay the bill. “Margaret Louise. When she’s really bad, I middle name her.”
But with a face like this, it’s easy to forgive even the “really bad.”
