The perfidy of my M&D knows no bounds. They presented me with the promise of a family trip in the car last week, a rare occurrence that could have resulted in a pleasant lunch at Kingston Beach, or something similar. Instead, I ended up at Tasmanian Veterinary Hospital, Kingston for my annual jabs for spurious canine ailments. That I could cope with, a necessary evil. Its always nice to catch up with Sheridan and the team, and I do appreciate the attention and treats that inevitably come my way.
What I cannot forgive M&D or the veterinary staff for is what came next. As usual, I happily hopped on the scales for my weigh-in which always results in a treat or two. The customary bonhomie quickly evaporated and was replaced with gasps of incredulity at the 43-kilo reading on said scales! I had been “fat-shamed”. Crisis talks concerning the dreaded ‘diet’ word ensued. Such dietary measures will include no more treats given at the table by Dad and significantly less biscuits and Shmackos during the day. I am already feeling the hunger pangs of this barbaric regime. I am a Labrador when all is said and done. We are supposed to be rounded and cuddly. If you want sleek and bony, get a whippet.
The ignominy did not cease there however. There was mention of a possible ear infection and before the hapless vet, Dr. Russell, could investigate, I burrowed under the chairs in the consulting room to stop this madness. He followed my manoeuvre so I then climbed up on to the back of the chairs and tried to clamber up the wall. By this stage Mum was understandably mortified by my behaviour. Sheridan, on the other hand, found it all rather amusing.
The ear infection was confirmed but there is no way that M&D are getting within a bull’s roar of my ears to administer the drops to clear it up. At their first attempt, I put up such a performance that they gave up very quickly. Unfortunately, that only means a return visit to the vet with something called Trazocalm administered beforehand . A Pyrrhic victory at best.
I’ve taken up a renewed interest in books of late. In my younger years at Rowan Street (Orange), when I had the energy to play “catch-me-if-you-can”, I would delight in stealing cookbooks off the shelves in the kitchen and taking them out to the back yard. I had a circuit through the bushes that meant catching me was almost impossible. By the time they grabbed me, or I got sick of the game, the books were often relieved of their covers or suitably chewed. Nowadays, in my middle age, I have a greater respect for reading material. Instead of destruction being the main aim, I contemplate the written word (some might suggest I actually read it) by disappearing under the bed with one of Dad’s books, where I simply use it as a pillow, albeit one which I am loathe to give up. As I write it is Tasmania Reads week and so my actions are contributing to a sense of community engagement.
Hopefully this forced starvation will not hinder my efforts to continue writing this blog. I will try to communicate with you all in the near future.
Love Ruby (a shadow of her former self!)
An Island Off an Island 