Here we are at the exact one month anniversary of Amelia joining our family. She’s had some time to acclimate to the household, the pack, the expectations, and the routine. And I feel it should be noted, if you hadn’t read the prior two reports of her progress, that’s she’s doing brilliantly. Her personality is shining, her growth is stunning and her intellect is striking for one still so young.
Amy was a Parvo survivor. She was treated before we met and was deemed Parvo-free before coming home with us. She also had gone through the typical puppy medical regimen including treatments to protect against worms and kennel cough and her first series of vaccines. We picked her the morning following her spay. She was still groggy but happy enough to see us as we did the pass from Foster to Family in the Lebanon, Ohio PetSmart parking lot. Amy was cool and easy sitting in my lap as Shari drove us toward home. A welcome departure from my dear Maxwell P. who so hated car rides that he would dance on my lap for hours without rest, whining, panting and drooling the entire time. I have stories and scars from some of our epic travels across Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Georgia, Tennessee, Kentucky, Indiana, Illinois, and Ohio. Maxie was nothing if not well-traveled, and well Maxie was everything to me. But here is Amy, content to curl up on my lap with no regard for the window or the passing scenery. And so we spent the hour ride home, stopping just once for a quick leg stretch and piddle break at an old rural cemetery we came across along the way. It was a nice cool morning and we dig walking around old cemeteries.
Little of that has to do with the subject of this report, Amy’s first doctor’s visit. Except to illustrate one point yet to be made.
Maxwell P. was a brave dog. He feared nothing… except for the dark, he was a little afraid of the dark. And car rides… he was terrified of car rides. His phobia, we suspect, was due to our belief that he had been transported at the tender age of 6 weeks from a non-local breeder to the folks that chose not to keep him. We think he was probably away from his mother and litter kin for the first time, weaned too early and alone, crated up and sent on a long, wild ride from Who-Knows-Where-Ville to the Great State of Texas. I’m pretty conflicted about this. I hate that this happened to him but I’m glad he came to us. But he was only the size of my fist when we got him, he fit completely in my slipper-shoe, he was just a little guy and I think something like that is going to leave a mark even if you will eventually grow up to be the strongest, bravest, most well-adjusted boy ever to grace existence. We never told him he wasn’t a Texas native he would’ve been crushed.
But here is little Amy, a perfect passenger in spite of all the moving about in her first couple of months of life – Who-Knows-Where-Ville to Shelter, Shelter to Rescue, Rescue to Adoption Events, Rescue to us and so on. All that and yet an easy rider on her way home on that particular Saturday morning.
So the time comes for Amy’s first checkup at the family doctor. As stated earlier and in spite of the title of this report, it isn’t her first visit to a Doc, but it’s her first visit to her family Doc. And for the sake of brevity over specificity, I think we’ll just leave the title as is.
At times we’ll take one of the others along on these types of calls, you know, for moral support. This time we did not. It was to be a solo trip for Little Miss and it became evident immediately that she was uncomfortable with the idea. Our good little passenger had to be carried and lifted into the backseat of the car where she cowered and shivered. Something she maintained for the entire ten-minute journey to the Doc’s office. She then needed to be cornered and carried out of the car and into the building. I recall thinking that was very strange at the time.
She relaxed a bit while waiting for her exam room. At first, the pesky, noisy dog at the counter had her mildly concerned. He barked methodically.
Bark…
Bark…
Bark…
“Sssh,” his mom whispered.
Bark…
Bark…
Bark…
Not really menacing at all, more like something to do while waiting to pay I think. But Amy was nestled in my arms and wagging. Maybe a little nervous but mainly unconcerned. In no time he finished up his business and was on his way. And now Amy was on her way too… to tackle the scale. Topping out at 18.7 lbs., mostly arms and legs if you ask me, she was finally ready for her private audience with her new Doc to begin.
Over the last month, Amy has been testing out different ways to sit. She watches the others and then tries out their methods for a bit, looking to settle on what will be her lifelong sitting technique, I reckon. She’s tried Cooper’s splayed frog squat and Boo Boo’s prim and proper Westminster posture, she’s even awkwardly tried sitting rolled to one hip or the other for a while. But this time when she took to the exam table she brought her very best sit. Knees together, feet together, back straight, head high, ears up… perfect. It was the sit she sits in the place she has called the Food Semicircle since she was a puppy all of 4 weeks ago. It’s a place known for its great pomp and ceremony. A place that requires the greatest degree of decorum, honest to god royal-grade decorum. It’s the spot in our kitchen where treats are handed out.
And so she sat for the Vet Tech and her questions, she sat for the Vet Tech’s paperwork. She stood briefly to endure the anal temperature probing and handled herself as best one can expect when being probed anally for any reason. When she returned to sitting it was still a perfect sit. But now wise to the predilections of the Vet Tech she tucked her tail tightly under her butt as if that horse could ever be put back in the barn. She rolled her eyes to the follow-up questions on her age as if she’s heard them before. It seems the Shelter rubber-stamped her at one year old, another form showed 5-½ months. With most of her puppy teeth still in her head we knew, she knew and the Doc confirmed her age couldn’t be more than four months. Just a baby, we’re in no rush here.
Our Vet is a good Vet but his bedside manner tends to cool professionalism. He’s formal with the dogs and the dog’s people as if to counter the Vet Tech’s overfamiliar method of checking one’s temperature. But with Amelia… with her he was different. On this occasion, he swept into the room, caught sight of her and seemed enamored when he asked, “Is this the new one?” He checked her ears… those ears, her eyes, her teeth, joints, back, and tummy. He was uncharacteristically discombobulated as if he perhaps gazed upon her gawky beauty too long and fell in, then recovered long enough to declare her “perfectly healthy” and quickly finish the exam with a shot in the rump and a spritz to the nose.
Done with the Doc, Little Miss sat in my lap across from the counter while her Mom tried to get the frequent puppy patron app to load to log our visit and hopefully get bookoo puppy points to be used I know not how. No joy. While the Vet’s office promotes the app and encourages its use, it apparently will not work in the actual office where we use and pay for their services. But that’s another story altogether.
We sat there waiting patiently. Feeling the weight of a stare. Inexplicably one of the half-dozen or so counter staff our Vet carries for some reason we can’t quite get our heads around was watching us. Well, she was watching Amelia who I just happened to be holding. Her chin tipped up slightly to peer over the counter at her. An unbreakable gaze, serious intent slipping toward quizzical. “Is that a Blue Heeler?” she called out. “She’s a Red Heeler” I cautiously replied with probably a little more than a little concern over her failure to notice Amy is red and not gray or blue but not wanting to bring too much attention in case its a genuine disability. “Sure whatever,” she said, “my <insert an affiliation because I just don’t remember> has a dog that is supposed to be mixed with Heeler and I never saw it in her until I just saw yours”.
“She’s beautiful… And those Ears!”
It was time to go, so we went.
Amy was a different girl on the ride home than she was on the ride out. She was a cool breeze and in spite of the shot, all was right in her world once again. She got home and tried to claw, then launch herself through the door to see Boo and Cooper and get back to her favorite thing of all… the Big Girl Bed.
It finally occurred to us that her fear and reluctance on the car ride out had a simple and sad explanation. She was afraid we were taking her away, sending her to a new family, new shelter or new cage somewhere without a Cooper or a Boo, somewhere without a Big Girl Bed.
I hope she never feels that way again. I never want to see it and she never needs to feel it because that I can guarantee will never, never happen.