Wednesday, February 13, 2008

Don't Try This at Home

Yesterday, the vet said that she wants a urine sample from my dog.

My male Doberman. My 70-lb. skittish, fast-as-lightening male Doberman.

So I grabbed a mason jar and approached him, slightly off plumb so as not to freak him completely. He bolted. This dog has obviously seen some really bad glass in his day. One look and he was out the door. It was like he could smell something weird coming on.

"Fine," I thought. "We weren't going to take a specimen indoors anyway."

I spent the next half hour traipsing behind him cooing, "Go pee, Mr. Bey, go pee!" in my nicest voice. The more I tracked him, the more weirded out he got. By the time I realized that any specimens collected today were not going to be from this dog, he was in full Warp drive. All I could see was flared nostrils and the whites of his eyes.

Whatever he's thinking ain't flattering. Either, having had his wobblies removed, he's not going to take any chances with his pocket rocket, or else I'm right up there with dog molesters.

It hasn't been a a pretty sight. Since I am an abject failure, I took him to the vet to have her do the deed. The vet who said, "Oh sure, it's easy. Just take him to his favorite bush." That was at 7:30 this morning, and I hadn't let Bey out for his morning business. He's got a full tank. I wanted to give her every advantage to show I'm a good sport.

It's 12:45 now and he still hasn't peed. I'm sure they can hear him sloshing.

If you can do a rain dance, would you please?