Howl (5 page)

How You Can Help Your Dog Enjoy a Visit to the Vet

[Michael J. Rosen and Mark Allen Svede]

A
TRIP TO
the vet’s office need not be a traumatic experience. A dog who is fearful, trembling, incontinent, blowing her coat, snarling, snapping, or attempting to claw an opening in the freshly repainted examination room door cannot appreciate the fact that you, and those of us here at Green Valley PetroPlex, have only her best interests in mind. Moreover, a veterinarian who is fearful, urine-soaked, and bleeding from both scratches and puncture wounds cannot appreciate your dog’s adorable qualities.

And why should you yourself fill with dread as you enter the clinic on the off-chance that we didn’t have to hire yet another receptionist who won’t know about your pet’s previous arraignments?

We have prepared this tip sheet with simple “desensitizing” exercises—that is, things you can do to acclimate your pet to the sounds, smells, physical sensations, and invasive procedures that are a routine part of veterinary care. Remember: after our own lives and limbs, followed by our anxiety over litigation and the loss of your patronage and potential referrals, we here at Green Valley PetroPlex value your pet’s safety and health above all else.

Begin slowly. Acknowledge that your dog might not enjoy car rides, or perhaps a leash. Or unfamiliar places, or strange sounds, or even familiar sounds. That’s okay. Your dog also might not enjoy other dogs, or spending time on uncarpeted surfaces, or being weighed—especially by patronizing strangers—or doing most anything that’s not just eating what you’re eating. So why is it that your dog loves a ride to the soft-serve ice cream place, which includes all these same anxiety-producers, except for the weighing part? Dogs are complicated animals, which is why you begin slowly.

• The weighing thing is no big deal. Tear off a sheet of aluminum foil that’s as long as your dog’s body. Set it on the floor. Place your dog on a leash, and have him stand on your “scale.” Now praise your dog and give him a treat. (At this point, don’t worry about a few extra pounds: foil scales are notoriously forgiving.)

• Speaking of little rides, if your dog already enjoys driving to the bank with you because her favorite teller dispenses dog biscuits through the pneumatic tube, have the teller say your dog’s name through the speaker, along with a phrase such as “This might sting a little.”

• For a few minutes every day, wear a brightly colored smock, preferably dotted with smiling puppies and happy kitties. Gradually, wear your smock for longer and longer periods of time. An extra-large smock works overtime as a nightshirt if your scaredy cat sleeps under the covers with you.

• Place dog-eared copies of magazines at least two years old on your end tables and windowsills. Make certain to include at least one animal-husbandry publication and one with graphic images of an untreated tapeworm infestation.

• An examination need not create anxiety. Help your dog understand this by poking and prodding your dog when he is calm—upon waking, for instance. Start by simply touching various places on your dog. Name the parts if you like, although it isn’t really reassuring if Mommy uses the word “occipital ridge” instead of “the little pointy place on top of your head I like to kiss.”

• Eventually imagine that your fingers are a stethoscope: press firmly around your dog’s withers, brisket, and raised hackles. Act like you are listening. (If your dog is unaccustomed to your silence, you may hum softly.) You can also pretend that your fingers are an otoscope, an ophthalmoscope, a syringe, and a rectal thermometer.

• Trim your dog’s toenails every time you trim your own. Make it a fun routine: let your dog trim one of your toenails, and then you trim one of your dog’s. Even if this is unlikely to make the experience more pleasant for either of you, it will help you understand the risks we here at Green Valley PetroPlex face when we see your reluctant little fella.

• To help your dog understand that we do our best to honor appointment times but that delays are an unavoidable aspect of veterinary care, secure your dog on a leash and invite dog-walking passersby to join you in your TV room. Some of the strangers should make small talk; others should remain close-lipped. One should narrate the entire hour in a high-pitched baby voice, while yet another should weep inconsolably into her animal’s fur. If convenient, to further dispel possible future tension, invite other members of the food chain to come sit a spell—for instance, boas, bunnies, accipiters, turtles, and Wheaton Terriers.

• In general, dogs do not like slippery surfaces. We don’t either, but we’re in the business of preventing the spread of disease, not sterile interior design. Help your dog overcome any insecurity about the exam table by clearing the surface of whatever table in your house has the slickest surface.

For the first few days, simply introduce your dog to the empty table. (Find an alternate surface for family meals, stacks of mail with unpaid vet bills, and the rest of your unsorted crap.)

Next, place a dog treat on the table. Provide a “stepping stool” such as your sofa, even if you have a dog who has proven, repeatedly, that he can jump that high—and even higher as on the Thanksgiving he consumed Aunt Nancy’s pumpkin cheesecake on the sideboard.

• Being a highly olfactory creature, your dog is sure to remember the smells here at Green Valley PetroPlex: a mixture of disinfecting products, other animals’ odors (including a steady stream of colognes and aftershaves), and the aromatherapy candles that our bookkeeper Ginny sells to pay for all the discount veterinary care she requires for the scads of unwanted kittens and puppies she’s adopted from the clinic. In order to ensure that these smells are pleasant associations why not take home a few scented candles to make your dog feel “at home” when in “our home”? Ginny offers a six-for-the-price-of-five discount as part of our low-cost spay/neuter package.

• Drive over to the clinic each week. Make us just another little errand on which your dog accompanies you. At first, just drive through the parking lot, point out the other nice doggies, and wave to the drivers circling the lot for the same reason that you are. After a few weeks, roll down the windows, or, if you feel your dog is ready, pull the car into a parking space and talk with your dog in a cheerful manner. Finally, walk your dog around the perimeter of the building. Make up happy stories about the dogs and cats you see in the waiting room; in this situation, your sense of irony is no help.

Thank you for helping us help you help your dog. Remember, it’s your attitude that models your dog’s attitude. Show your dog that you enjoy visiting Green Valley PetroPlex and your dog will too. Exude confidence and have a confident dog! Keep to yourself why you feel that flea preventives are a rip-off, or why it scares you that a person who spent a small fortune on a veterinary education would believe that a bright purple smock with orange Beagles sniffing rainbows would calm either you or your pet. Your dog will pick up on your skepticism.

Should you need more assistance than these brief suggestions can provide, ask a member of our staff for your complimentary copy of “My Dog Has a Panic Attack If I So Much as Mention the Word ‘Vet,’” which comes with a free 30-day sample of CalmDown® (or that would be two 2-week samples if you want to give half to your dog), and our Scaredy Cat Dog Kit ($25) that includes our 64-page Do-It-at-Home Veterinary Care guide, a CalmDown® frequent-buyer discount card, and one of Ginny’s Lavender Calming Candles.

Better Than You

[Jon Glaser]

I
HAVE A DOG.
But this story is not about her.

It is about me and how I am better than you. The reason I am better than you is this: not only do I pick up my dog’s No. 2’s, I also rinse and dilute her No. 1’s. Since this is a reputable magazine, from this point forward, “rinsing her No. 1’s” will be referred to as “the thing that makes me better than you.”

I live in a big city, and I have always been disgusted by how people just let their dogs freely urinate on garbage bags, on newspaper boxes, or even right on the sidewalk. There’s no consideration or respect for the sanitation workers who have to handle the bags, the people who get newspapers, or even their neighbors and neighborhood. So several years ago, I started carrying a water bottle with me when I took my dog for a walk, to do the thing that makes me better than you.

Over time, I started to feel myself becoming a little smug whenever I pulled out the water bottle. I was very impressed not only with what I was doing but also with my entire system for doing it. I didn’t inconveniently and awkwardly carry the water bottle in one hand. I wore (and still wear) Dickies double-knee work pants. Full length in the fall, shorts in the summer, both of which have a pocket on the side of the right pant leg that also happens to fit a standard bicycle water bottle perfectly. It’s almost as if the pants were designed for me. Or designed by me. I have them in dark blue, black, gray, and brown. A friend once asked if the pants were Helmut Lang. Helmut Lang? Good Lord, how much better than you can I be?

On all my walks, I never saw anyone do anything remotely similar to what I was doing, and I gradually allowed myself to believe that I was the only one in the entire city—and quite possibly all of America—who was doing something like this. I wondered if people were noticing me, thinking about me, talking about me to one another after they passed me by.

“Did you see that?”

“That is so great.”

“More people should do that.”

I fantasized about standing in front of City Hall and describing what I do, showing everyone the water bottle in the side pocket, demonstrating how small and easy a thing it is to do, my voice starting to rise a little with passion. The little things add up to a lot, I’d say. I envisioned doing a print ad for Dickies: a shot of me walking my dog, reaching for the water bottle, with the caption “Dickies: Worn by the guy who does the thing that no one else does.”

I didn’t go to City Hall. I didn’t do an ad for Dickies. And in all the months, and then years, that I walked my dog, waiting to be acknowledged, no one ever said anything. It became obvious at some point that no one else was doing it, and I resigned myself to the fact that no one cared.

My dog and I were in the street when it happened. A woman approached me. She wasn’t passing me on the sidewalk or sitting in a nearby car. She was a good thirty feet away, inside a building. She came out of the building and walked over to me. I almost wasn’t sure what to do. The moment I always dreamed of was happening, and it caught me off guard. It was like finally accepting the fact that Santa Claus doesn’t exist, only to have him come walking through the front door instead of the chimney, on a day that is not Christmas, just to tell me what a great thing he thought I was doing with my dog. (After this, I picture him just standing there for a moment of awkward silence and then turning right around to leave.)

This woman was impressed not only by what I had done but also that I had done it even though my dog wasn’t on the sidewalk. Which I guess, in this woman’s eyes, made what I was doing all the more noble. We chatted for a bit about this, about how what I had done was so easy, how more people should do it and have respect for their neighborhood. All the things I had imagined people must think when they see me. It was a very short exchange. No extended dialogue about morals or the state of the world or anything. She then walked back into the building, and I walked away feeling very good about myself. I had been validated.

That was all I needed. The confidence in knowing what a great thing I’m doing is back. I’m guessing that this article will inspire copycats. People will claim they wrote this article, and for the most part I’ll continue to go on being unrecognized. But some people—the smart ones—will figure out that I was the author. And when they do, they will probably want to tell me what a great thing it is that I’m doing. Let me just say right now that it won’t be necessary. Because I already know.