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Vet Visit

Hello my wonderful, loyal blogowers! I know you've been worried about my absence from the blog lately. You were right to worry -- I've been deathly ill. Well, I guess not deathly. More likely sleepily. And not really ill, more like traumatized. I've been sleepily traumatized!

As you know, I'm an old dog. Eleven and two-thirds years old as Perry would say, because he's a nerd. I'm a Beagle mix, so I've got a few good years left in me. And the Kirkham's live a long time! My Great Grandma Kirkham is 102 in people years! Some of that longevity had to rub off on me in the eleven and one-third years I've been a Kirkham. But, since I'm old, Vet visits have become a more regular thing -- and it's not pretty.

In case you are unfamiliar, the Vet is a place full of contradictions. It smells both very clean and very much like other pets. The people give you treats and pets-on-the-head, but then shove cold things in your bottom. You know it's a good place because your family wouldn't take you somewhere bad, but it's awfully scary.

At the Vet, the floor is very shiny. A true blogower knows what this means -- shiny floors are one of my greatest fears. Is it made of water? Maybe. Will I slip and fall? Possibly. Am I going to die crossing it? Most Likely. Lisa had to push me out on to it the first time there. The only time I wasn't on the shiny floor was when they picked me up to put me on a table. I loathe (new vocab word!) being picked up. I am Biscuit: Protector of the Kirkhams, Barker at Squirrels and Birds, Roller in Dead Things! I am not a dog you pick up. It's degrading, stuck there with your limbs all askew, your belly exposed for the whole world to sniff. Perry tells me I'm the only dog in the world that doesn't like their belly rubbed.

Don't get me wrong, the people at the Vet are very nice. They stab you with giant needles in the nicest way possible. And before and after you get to "go" in the car, which is so much fun and sorta helps you forget about all the trauma. But when you get home, there are pills. And the sleepy trauma begins again. I hope you are well, blogowers, and your Vet visits are few!

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