I don’t like to say it but I think my mum has a sadistic streak. I wrote about it before, some time ago when I first started doing my blog.
Whenever I’m poorly, she takes me to this awful place called THE VETS It’s a horrible place where a nasty man in a white coat plonks me on a cold, slippery, metal table and then starts prodding and poking my orifices. She usually only takes me there when I’m ill. When I’m so ill I can’t bear all the prodding and poking. It’s downright cruel.
Well, yesterday she took me there even though I wasn’t ill, and I suddenly remembered why. It always happens around the same time every year, and visions of great big needles danced in my head and I thought “NO WAY. NOT THIS TIME. OH NO!” This is me looking shocked:
So, when mum parked outside the Vets and asked me to jump out of the car I decided to roll on my back. That didn’t quite work – she simply picked me up out of the car, plonked me on my feet and attached the lead to my collar. In desperation, I rolled on my back again. She started gnashing her teeth at that point and saying, “You little bugger. Get up!” I could tell I was getting her mad up so I employed another tactic. I started wagging my tail frantically and looking as sweet as I could, still on my back in submissive pose – it gets her every time. She’s a sucker for it – the waggy tail. She started giggling and saying “Come on, GET UP!” but she was laughing so I knew I was winning.
She pulled the lead, saying, “Come on Henry. Come on boy. Let’s go for a walk” in her bright “Let’s have fun!” voice. I knew she thought she could fool me. Well, mum, I wasn’t born yesterday. We were outside the bloody Vets for goodness’ sake. Does she think I’m thick? I remained on my back, wagging my tail and looking cute. She dragged me a few feet, but had started to get an audience at that juncture.
That’s when she simply picked me up and marched me inside. Bummer! I’d forgotten that I was tiny. I wished I was a Great Dane or a Rotty. She couldn’t have swept me up under her arm if I’d been a Rotty could she? All the folks in the Vets were laughing, but their poor pooches weren’t. They all looked petrified. They were all shaking and shivering with fear. Including me.
About five hours later (everything takes an age in France) I’d been prodded, poked and then injected with these huge – nay – HUMONGOUS needles. It was so painful. Honest. I’m sure it was. I can’t really remember to be fair because it happened so fast. But I’m sure it hurt. It must have. Then mum had the cheek to say, “Don't look at me like that. It’s for your own good sweetheart”. FOR MY OWN GOOD? WHY? WHY IS HAVING ME LIBERALLY PUNCTURED WITH NEEDLES A GOOD THING? WHY? I tell you. She’s downright cruel.
Anyway I was thoroughly spoiled yesterday evening and Uncle Hugh gave me lots of ‘Fingers of Fun’
This morning I felt a bit sore.