Sean has been hounding asking me to step in and blog about Clarkson’s recent vet visit. The story isn’t as interesting as when he was attacked by that racist bitch as the Higgins Christmas drama – more on that later. But I’ll start here. So you are all caught up to where we are in the story: Sean has googled “dog” and “sneeze,” read about a dog that sneezed itself to death, and is balling like a little girl thinking about a tiny casket.
So I go to the vet. Clarkson sneezed with every breath all the way to the vet. It sounded like brain stem projectiles were about to fly out he couldn’t breath. As an aside: this is my first trip to the vet – or any vet ever. Sean talked about how the entire staff creamed themselves got very excited when Clarkson was there. And it’s no wonder. He’s small, cute and personable:
Other people are at the vet because they have disgusting morbidly obese diabetic club-footed belabored-breathing bugged-out red-eyed family members beasts. Ok, so Clarkson is sneezing in the waiting area uncontrollably. They call us and he sneezes all the way down the hall to the examining room.
The doctor comes in and suddenly the sneezing stopped. I’m not kidding. He did not sneeze once the entire time in front of the vet, the little attention grabbing bastard. Not. Once. So the vet is asking me what the problem is and, without sounding like an over protective nervous yuppie dog owner I tell her about his imaginary sneezing. Of course I feel a little foolish, but I’m sure she’s seen this all before. I expect the conversation to go one of two ways: (a) surely the vet will know the story of the urban legend dangers and risks of a dog potentially sneezing itself to death or (b) I will get a pointed pause, slight eye squint, condescending head tilt and a load of bullshit diagnosis. Let’s just say that fatal sneezing was not mentioned, and the vet proceeded to examine Clarkson.
Clarkson sneezed squirmed and yelped when she shined a light in his ear. Light – oh so painful light. He was a little brat with everything she tried do anything to him – except when she needed a temperature reading. She shoved inserted the thermometer up his ass and he purred was completely quiet and calm. Apparently, big tough Clarkson who takes on dogs ten times his size, has a secret soft side. The vet them blabbed some garbage about nasal mites gave us placebo antibiotics, and we were on our way to mom’s for an early Christmas dinner during which Sean brings up the unknown father of my sister’s bi-racial baby, accuses my mom of orchestrating the demise of my brother’s wedding (which was called off five days before) and shows my mom a picture of me on Halloween dressed as a bearded Hooter’s chick. But those are all better discussed in therapy other blogs.
