We’ve had a quiet spell over the past couple of weeks. Maisie’s brother came to stay for a fortnight while The Cupcake Queen was off on holiday. This happened to coincide with The Fatdogs’ traditional joint visit to the vets for their annual jabs and check ups. The two 8 year olds passed muster, then the vet came out with the classic…
“Are they showing signs of their age yet?”
The Fatdogs looked enquiringly at the vet; then at us, both obviously puzzled by the question. We shrugged.
The Fatdogs tensed.
Earlier intrusions of fingers and thermometers were now weighing heavily on The Fatdogs’ minds. Liberties with their persons and inappropriate comments about their age were not going down well.
White whiskered Murphy, not the thinker of the pair, began a deep growl. Maisie, a more considered crater than her brother, gave the vet a very hard stare. No good would come of this. Still, shouldn’t be too hard to find a replacement vet in these troubled times…and…if you’re going to mess with a Fatdog’s arse then you should be prepared to face the consequences.
We escaped the vets with a relatively trivial bill and a minimum of bloodshed although I thought coffins cost more than that. The Fatdogs annual check up and injections had been carried out and both were in good shape. It would have been better if they had been in good shape for a pair of Labradors as opposed to a pair of walruses – but you should always count your blessings.