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For over a year, I have put off having Rosco's teeth cleaned. I had more or less planned on having them done last summer, but my own oral surgery, then the fires and then the smog-induced evacuation, made hash of those plans. On top of that, Fips had his own annual exam in June followed by another in the Fall on account of his sloppy leg. The bottom line is just that.
Poor little Rósqui... fact also is he's Number Two. He's been getting a lot of seconds and it was time for him to move to the head of the line for a change.
Fine, but why can't I go to the head of line for other things ...?
So, early in the morning we piled into the Jeep and drove over to Pope Valley to see "Sally the Valley Vet." Of all the vets around here, I like Sally the best. She answers the phone, and she calls you back -- not some Barbie Brained receptionist with a grating high pitched squeal, whose purpose in life is to mis-deflect your questions and intervene between you and what you pay for. In addition, Sally tries to figure out how to minimize "standard protocols" so that, although her prices aren't cheap, the "service for fees" aren't piled high like M&Ms.
Sally works out of her estate which doubles as a vineyard. The clinic is a small rectangular building halfway between the hill top house guarded by shading oaks and the pond/reservoir down by the front gate. The clinic is basically one large room with a desk computer, an examining table, a wood stove, and a large floor pillow with a sleeping cat in the middle. To the left is a small operating room and to the right is another room with some storage cabinets and a few kennels. Drug ads and "Info-Posters" telling you all the awful things that can befall your dog or cat in the absence of a pill are nowhere to be seen. Instead, the walls are decorated with some pleasant prints.
Some people were leaving as we drove up, and after Rosco relieved himself on some bushes, he ran inside and explored around excitedly, not (wonder of wonders) disturbing the cat. The fun ended and the quivering began when I lifted him onto the table. Does Rosco remember his terrible experience in Mexico, I wondered, or are these just normal doggie shakes? In all events I soothed him as Sally lifted up his chops.
Pretty scuzzy.....
Estimate settled, I left Rosco in the kennel with a sweatshirt of mine and took Fips down to the pond for a sniff about in the early morning sun.
Later in the afternoon, I called up. Sally said everything had gone fine, although she had to pull one small upper tooth where the gum had receded too far. Except for a little recession on the same tooth on the other side, his teeth were fine. Rosco who was resting groggy and dopey in his kennel and was ready to be picked up.
There were no other patients when I arrived back at the clinic which was peaceful and quiet. But within two seconds of my walking throught the door Rosco started to chortle and whimper.
Wuuuyymmm wuuuuyyyymmmm wuuuyyymmm -yymmmm -ymmmmm
I was at once taken aback and reminded of Rosco's sense and love. Because he had not started until I walked in, it was my scent that he immediately picked up on, and that caused him to cry out for his number one pal and provider. Rosco gives the impression of being infused with laissez aller but Michael always said, "He's more sensitive than you think."
I walked over to the kennel and petted him through the bars as he whimpered some more. "I think we better let him out, " I said. He stumbled out the door as Fips looked on through the car's window. Sally and I followed Rosco around to see if he was urinating alright and then Sally carried him back to the Jeep where he joined his brother, who got a free, informal dental check.
A cluster of sleepy fuzzies, Fips sat in the passenger seat with his head on my thigh, as Rosco rested on the divider next to my leg with his head on Fip's hip. As we drove in this way back through the valley's rolling hills carpetted in Spring green, dotted with California oaks and surrounded by pine covered mountains, I thought to myself that this was one of those inestimable advantages to Middletown. Yes, a half hour drive seems a long distance to go for a vet, but in truth is a half hour in stop and go in city traffic any more convenient? Plus, the city has a lot of horses asses, but few cows.
.
Sally works out of her estate which doubles as a vineyard. The clinic is a small rectangular building halfway between the hill top house guarded by shading oaks and the pond/reservoir down by the front gate. The clinic is basically one large room with a desk computer, an examining table, a wood stove, and a large floor pillow with a sleeping cat in the middle. To the left is a small operating room and to the right is another room with some storage cabinets and a few kennels. Drug ads and "Info-Posters" telling you all the awful things that can befall your dog or cat in the absence of a pill are nowhere to be seen. Instead, the walls are decorated with some pleasant prints.
Some people were leaving as we drove up, and after Rosco relieved himself on some bushes, he ran inside and explored around excitedly, not (wonder of wonders) disturbing the cat. The fun ended and the quivering began when I lifted him onto the table. Does Rosco remember his terrible experience in Mexico, I wondered, or are these just normal doggie shakes? In all events I soothed him as Sally lifted up his chops.
Pretty scuzzy.....
Estimate settled, I left Rosco in the kennel with a sweatshirt of mine and took Fips down to the pond for a sniff about in the early morning sun.
Later in the afternoon, I called up. Sally said everything had gone fine, although she had to pull one small upper tooth where the gum had receded too far. Except for a little recession on the same tooth on the other side, his teeth were fine. Rosco who was resting groggy and dopey in his kennel and was ready to be picked up.
There were no other patients when I arrived back at the clinic which was peaceful and quiet. But within two seconds of my walking throught the door Rosco started to chortle and whimper.
Wuuuyymmm wuuuuyyyymmmm wuuuyyymmm -yymmmm -ymmmmm
I was at once taken aback and reminded of Rosco's sense and love. Because he had not started until I walked in, it was my scent that he immediately picked up on, and that caused him to cry out for his number one pal and provider. Rosco gives the impression of being infused with laissez aller but Michael always said, "He's more sensitive than you think."
I walked over to the kennel and petted him through the bars as he whimpered some more. "I think we better let him out, " I said. He stumbled out the door as Fips looked on through the car's window. Sally and I followed Rosco around to see if he was urinating alright and then Sally carried him back to the Jeep where he joined his brother, who got a free, informal dental check.
A cluster of sleepy fuzzies, Fips sat in the passenger seat with his head on my thigh, as Rosco rested on the divider next to my leg with his head on Fip's hip. As we drove in this way back through the valley's rolling hills carpetted in Spring green, dotted with California oaks and surrounded by pine covered mountains, I thought to myself that this was one of those inestimable advantages to Middletown. Yes, a half hour drive seems a long distance to go for a vet, but in truth is a half hour in stop and go in city traffic any more convenient? Plus, the city has a lot of horses asses, but few cows.
.
