Poor old Reg had a trip to the vet yesterday. For the last month or so he has been doing a pretty impressive impersonation of Thumper, the rabbit from Bambi. Despite being bombarded with flea treatments, medicated shampoo and antihistamine tablets, he has continued with the thump-thump-thump at any given time. Add into this an attack of worms, and you have a poor pup with quite a lot on his plate. I can't say that he's been poorly, as he's not been any different to his normal loopy self, but after a particularly annoying evening of thumping, the husband pleaded with me to take the beggar to the vet.
After the last debacle with the two of them, I decided to take Reg alone this time, and left Percy at home with Monday's copy of the Times and his knitting. Although initially miffed not to be going in the car with Reg, when the penny finally dropped that he was going to have the house to himself, Percy was seen to give a small paw punch as he shuffled off to the lounge whistling.
We were first in the waiting room much to my relief, and once the walk of shame to the scales had been done, and a weight (never the real one, I hasten to add) shouted out to the receptionist, we settled down with Reg on my lap happily snaffling biscuits from my handbag.
As the minutes ticked by, dog after dog joined us in the waiting room, and apart from a very minor contretemps with a Wheaten Terrier, everything was fine, and Reg behaved himself. And then we were called in.
Having told the vet as much as I could remember, she gave him a thorough examination, culminating at the rear end where a red patch was evident. 'Looks like it may be his anal gland that's causing him to scratch', suggested the vet. 'Hold him tight while I take a look'.
For any of you who have had the misfortune to be in the same county when your dog has this procedure, you'll understand my horror at being in a 6' square room with one small (closed) window when she did the anal probe. A small note here. When you say the word 'probe', please say it in a 1950's Scottish voice and make sure you roll the 'r's. Actually, talking of rolling 'r's, this is pretty much what Reg did when he saw the vet reach for the latex gloves and Vaseline....
Anyway, it turned out that the vet was right after all (good to know that my £126 was money well spent), so suitably sorted, we came back out into the waiting room to pay.
The Wheaten Terrier was still there, and I kept a stern eye on Reg as he has a propensity to cock his leg up any vertical surface in the waiting room. All was going well till I took my eye off the prize and handed the receptionist my bank card. The giggles from the Wheaten Terrier's owner told me all I needed to know, and I entered my PIN number while keeping an eye on the ever increasing puddle to my left.
'Your dog's a bit special', said the Wheaten Terrier's owner.
Madam, you don't know the half of it...