I know, I know, I usually mention my weekend happenings on Mondays, but I got a little side tracked with my fuzzy feeling, armless, dog story. It was a good one, wasn’t it? You can read it again here.

If you follow me on twitter you may be familiar with this story. And if you don’t follow me on twitter, umm…maybe you should start. My handle is @mothakim – 10-4 little buddy.

Friday

I had to take Buddy, our 3-legged foster dog, to the vets.

Question: Is the fact that he has 3 legs relevant to the story?

Answer: No. But I like saying it – “Buddy, our 3 legged foster dog”

Anyway, the earliest appointment I could get was at 2:15 pm, which meant Ana had to come with me. And wherever Ana goes, a blog post magically writes itself.

We arrived at the vets a few minutes early, so I was a little surprised when they took us into the tiny examination room right away. I can only assume they recognized Ana from the ‘water cooler incident’ and wanted to contain little Miss Liability.

dun dum dun dum dun dun dun dun

I swear we waited in that room for over a half hour while vet techs came in and out, reminding us that the doctor would be in soon. Meanwhile Ana was in full-on bitch mode. “I’m thirsty” “I’m hungry” “I have to go pee pee”. The “pee pee” threat is the one that made me nervous.

I really didn’t want to leave the examination room. I had that deli counter feeling- you know the one, they’d call my number “29…29…29…” but I wouldn’t hear it because I’m making a mad dash to grab my Tampax Tampons (I swear they should sponsor me). Next thing I know the deli guy has moved on to customer 30 and I’m back at that stupid red dispenser pulling number 92.

So I say to Ana, “Can you hold it?”

Her response?

“Uck, ok, but then I have to wash my hands” and she starts pulling her pants down…(???)

Oh. my. god. she’s going to pee in her hands…to literally hold it!

She’s not playing around. So now I have no choice but to abandon the examination room in search of the restroom.

I find the bathroom. It’s one of those overly large single toilet rooms, the kind that can accommodate a wheelchair, or a mariachi band if you want to have company while you shit. So the three of us (oh yeah, Buddy our 3-legged foster dog) head in. I get Ana on the toilet, I’m watching her balance on the edge of this toilet, and I hear a familiar tinkling sound…only it’s not coming from her.

I look over my shoulder and Buddy is urinating on the trashcan! His leg is hitched high over his head, and I gasp as I watch him tip over in mid stream (because he has 3 legs), urine going everywhere. And for a moment, I’m not sure if I’m suppose to be angry or not. I mean, it is a bathroom, Ana is peeing, who knows, maybe Buddy is super smart and was holding it for the bathroom. And if that’s the case, can I really yell at him? I clean it up, think about telling the receptionist, then decide to spare Buddy from the embarrassment of his faux paw (get it? faux paw!).

We head back into the room and the doctor finally comes in. She kicks Buddy’s tires, gives me a laundry list of recommended improvements (including teeth cleaning for $1000) and says “So you’re hoping to find someone to adopt a 6 year old, 3 legged dog? Good luck with that.”

Buddy and I look at each other, and I give him a mental high five for peeing on her floor.