What’s good for the goose . . .

Dear Readers,

It seems we just can’t make it through a season on Marco without Momma bringing me to the vet for something real or imagined. This time she thought I had a urinary tract infection based on a few flimsy observations on her part: I went tinkle frequently (I’m a dog!), my morning toilette included private grooming (I’m a dog!), and I had a UTI one time in Minnesota last summer. (Momma: “Don’t forget to mention that you peed on my rug in the living room recently.”) Okay, but does that all add up to another horrific trip to the vet?

Trying to become invisible after my little potty accident

Apparently, it does, because Momma started off the morning by sliding a tray under my little tush trying to capture a sample of pee. Try putting up with that when one is standing on three paws (Momma: “If you didn’t identify as a boy, you’d be standing on four.”) Then off we went, urine and credit card in hand. And unfortunately, the vet’s office is so busy that you can’t get an appointment, and I was forced to spend most of the day there. Here we are waiting our turn to be checked in.

That afternoon the vet called Momma to share the unsurprising news that I have no UTI. In fact, the vet pointedly told Momma that my urine sample was pretty boring. So after another unnecessary trip — and $144.88 later — Momma picked me up. As you can see, I’m not happy. And I got even unhappier when Momma discovered that I have gained .6 pounds and put me on a strict diet.

Momma’s Turn

On the other paw, Momma is refusing to cooperate with her own health care provider. The same day as my grueling day at the vet’s, they called her and left a message stating she should schedule her annual wellness appointment. At first Momma was quite excited because she thought it was a free physical, and called the scheduling department back promptly. When the nice lady on the line told Momma that a nurse would be coming to her house, however, Momma balked. “Coming to my house?” she asked incredulously. “Wouldn’t it make more sense for me to come in so all the equipment and instruments are available for my exam?” Well, no it wouldn’t, said the lady because it wasn’t really an exam, but more of a chance to sit down with Momma and go over her meds and family history and do a health risk screening and create a five year plan to “help her stay healthy.”

Realizing that this was all doublespeak meant for a visit to check on the elderly and infirm (and they would likely ask her who the president was — and by God, she unfortunately knew the answer to that, and to draw the big and little hands on a clock to indicate that it was ten to eleven), she was almost apoplectic. She was definitely not in that category and told the nice lady on the phone in no uncertain terms that she would not be scheduling such a visit.

In the meantime, I’ll just continue to watch Momma try to remember people’s names and hunt for her keys. At least her symptoms are real.

Lina, Once again on the wrong end of the leash

WOOFDA!

One thought on “What’s good for the goose . . .

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