Month: January 2009

I spent the morning at the vet’s with Mac Our Dog, and it was a particularly busy morning there, with the receptionist at sixes and sevens, and though she was trying her humanly (and doggedly and cattedly) best to cope, Mac and I had to wait about an hour before we saw the vet, and when we did, the consultation rooms were all full so the vet actually came out to the reception area to see Mac.

Which was good of course, because Mac Our Dog has an understandable fear of the consultation rooms – he’s pretty happy in the reception area because he thinks it’s a wonderful place full of other people and animals. But once he’s in a consultation room, memories of needles and other cold and painful instruments assault his senses and he’s so stressed out you want to look for doggie cigarettes for him to calm his nerves.

The good thing with the wait was that Mac Our Dog got to make lots of friends (and piss some of them off with his over-friendliness), most notably a English Bulldog whose first action upon seeing Mac was a play-bow, (an invitational gesture to play – for those not in the know) which drove Mac nuts – which meant that Mac next attempted to hump the (male) bulldog.

If you’re unfamiliar with Mac Our Dog, here’s where I tell you that Mac Our Dog humps everything that moves, although he has a preference for human legs.

The bulldog wasn’t the least bit offended by Mac’s forwardness, and I was afraid he was going to be mauled or at least severely barked at. But no. The bulldog attempted to return the compliment instead, and what ensued was a merry dance of dogs, handlers and leashes, much to the delight of the dozen people who had been waiting half the morning to see the vet.

Standing for a long time next to me waiting to get the attention of the receptionist was a couple in their 60s carrying a small animal in a bag which upon some conversation revealed itself to be a five year old rabbit with a large tumour on its chest.

Lucky The Rabbit’s gone under the vet’s knife a few months previously to remove several similar tumours, and his bald patch from that surgery hasn’t even had time to grow back. But his doting owners just want to make sure he’s ok, and don’t see themselves as having any other choice than forking out another thousand bucks to get Lucky’s tumours out.

“It’s between his arms“, the couple corrected me in Cantonese when I suggested to them that the tumour being between his front legs would pose problems with Lucky’s movements.

“He’s very “kuai”, and sits down with us to watch tv every day”, says Auntie, who also tells me Lucky was found downstairs of their flat, abandoned by his previous owners.

“If we don’t let him have surgery, then we don’t know what to do” she says, as the receptionist finally calls for me and Mac to get our prescription and bill.

Uncle just looks at Lucky and very gently strokes him from behind his bunny ears while Mac goes nuts at the sight of two Shi-Tzus being slung from the shoulders of another irate owner who’s been kept waiting for most of the morning as well.