So we’re just sitting around last Tuesday when Mom comes home and says that me and Petey are going for a ride. I didn’t know where we were going, it was kind of yucky out for a walk, but I always like a ride so I was excited. Dad picked us up and off we went. Guess where we went . . . the vet! Right then and there I am thinking 0 roos, cause I wasn’t feeling sick or anything. Why I am going to see the vet?
I like the vet well enough, but they are always doing things to me—sticking me with needles, looking in my ears, my mouth (and other places). Turns out this time I was just there to get my nails clipped. No big deal, I thought. So I go in the back area and they do their thing. Clip, clip . . . a couple hurt, but I thought I was okay. I was being a good boy and not causing a fuss.
After I finished, I get into the car and Dad looks at Mom and says, “Look, there’s blood everywhere!” I did not know how the blood got there . . . until I saw my paw. It’s my blood! Mom rushed me back in there to see the vet. Mom also saw that there was blood in the parking lot . . . she told the vet it looked like “a murder scene!”
“A murder scene! Did the vet try to murder me?” I asked myself.
What did I ever do to the vet; aren’t they supposed to be nice to us pets? Mom and Dad paid the bill, so they weren’t roughin’ me up for money. Why would anyone want to murder me? I am a nice dog with funny ears that makes people laugh.
Turns out the vet wasn’t trying to murder me, they just didn’t do a good job clipping my nails. They cut my nail way too short and I bled a lot. Whew! It’s good to be alive!
Going to the vet is 0 roos and nearly being murdered is 0 roos.
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