Carry on my Wayward Son: Part II

So, the thing is, we take him to the vet because we are going to be gone with one thing or another all weekend and we want to board him so he won't be alone all day. There are these five, nice, pet-loving, women who work for the vet who have always adored our cats.

Rosco? Another story.

He gets to the office and enters like Kramer on Seinfeld: plastered against the door with a wild look in his eye. Then he proceeds to run circles around the waiting room, stick his nose under the swinging door where the office staff is and try to shimmy under it on his belly.

All 90 pounds of it.

That's right. He's now almost 11 months old and 90 pounds of pure canine muscle, not an ounce of fat on him.

He sees one of the vet techs and immediately tries to jump up on her and lick her face. (Hey, just because they discriminate against his size doesn't mean he doesn't love them...)

There is a lot of smiling and nervous laughter amongst the girls as one of them carries him, (or is it the other way around?) to the back room where the kennels are.

On Sunday, we determine there is still too much to do and we would like to board him one more day. So, I call the office and conversation goes something like this:

"Hi, we are thinking we'd like to board Rosco just one more night because it's a little too complicated for us to pick him up today. Would that be ok? Do you have the room?"

Silence.

"Uh, would that be okay? You're not getting tired of him, are you?" I laugh.

"Uh, well, let's see".....she says in the slow, measured voice of a person who has a gun pressed up against their temple, "y-e-e-s-s, I think we have room.....Yes we do."

"I PROMISE I'll come for him tomorrow after work."

Nervous laughter. "Okay...."

The next day, when I arrive as promised, I bring my son with me. It's his dog and he and TH are the only ones that seem to have the strength to walk the beast on his leash.

The head tech is standing there smiling as we come in and she hands my son the leash.

"Well, maybe since you are here, you would like to get him from the back room for me!" she says a little too brightly. "I'm sure he'll be really glad to see you!!"

Hey, don't give me that Caregiver Speak, sister, I know what that means: Hurry up and take your kid cause he's driving me out of my freakin' mind.

A few moments later, my son brings Rosco out, panting and straining on his leash, ready for his next adventure. The office staff smiles.

"I hope he didn't give you too much trouble," I say, in the cold, clipped tones of a mother spurned.

"Well, " they smile at each other, "He's a good boy...and he's..... quite a handful!"

Rosco was glad to be home where his people understand and accept him for who he is.

And I gotta find a new kennel.