Jack the foster dog returned from a toilet break in
the neighbour's garden, staggering about and drooling.
At
first, I thought he was being a smart arse, mimicking the behaviour which is
exhibited by his foster parent most evenings.
Then he fell to the floor and it seemed that he had finally mastered the Dead Dog trick I have been trying to teach him (flat on his back, legs in the air, tongue hanging out, groaning).
However, when he didn't respond to "Clever dog Jack, about bloody time", I noticed that, what I had assumed to be a third eye in the middle of his forehead (an unremarkable finding which I have not infrequently observed after enjoying a few drams), was in fact a tick.
Then he fell to the floor and it seemed that he had finally mastered the Dead Dog trick I have been trying to teach him (flat on his back, legs in the air, tongue hanging out, groaning).
However, when he didn't respond to "Clever dog Jack, about bloody time", I noticed that, what I had assumed to be a third eye in the middle of his forehead (an unremarkable finding which I have not infrequently observed after enjoying a few drams), was in fact a tick.
The vet charged us $1,000.00 to give Jack a tick
injection, then wanted another grand to give him another injection when we took
him back the next day for the second tick that he had missed.
Jack survived, and sometime later received a personal
letter from the vet saying: "Dear
Jack. Now you are a senior citizen, you will have to have twice yearly blood
tests and urinalysis to keep you healthy."
FFS! Maybe he meant to send the letter to me.
(Bloody vets. I remember when all they did was castrate puppies for ten bob.)
