My boy is sick. I came home from work yesterday, and Oscar greeted me with barely a shrug. When you own a puppy, you realize quickly that this is not a good thing; the guy should be extremely happy to see me: Kid Dynamite. Pops. Dad.

Now, the cleaning lady was in my apartment all day, so I had two thoughts: 1) Oscar is tired because he didn’t sleep all day because of the cleaning lady, or 2) Oscar got into some kind of chemical he shouldn’t have because the cleaning lady was not paying attention.

This morning, when he was still lethargic, I realized it wasn’t number 1. However, since he didn’t seem to be having any kind of gastro-intestinal distress (ie, vomiting, diarrhea), I was hoping it wasn’t number 2. I took two hours off at lunch today to take him to the vet.

At the vet, the doctor explained to me, “First, we’ll take his temperature.” Hmm… No way they’re putting a thermometer under his tongue, and I don’t see one of those things that they stick in your ear to get the instant temperature… Uh oh buddy… Sure enough, the vet whips out a tube of lube, and slathers up the rectal thermometer, as I wince. Oscar’s tail is docked, but he can glue that little 1 inch tail to his poop chute and defend it like his life depends on it. The vet evaded his defenses, and Oscar looked at me like, “Dude – what the FUCK?” Poor dude.

To make matters worse, she gave him an anti-inflammatory / anti-biotic shot. Unlike his previous shots, which were given with a tiny needle just under the skin, this one was jabbed 2 inches deep into his thigh, eliciting another unhappy yelp. Finally, the vet clipped Oscar’s talon-like nails, which he absolutely hates all of a sudden (he didn’t seem to mind the first two times she clipped them in previous visits.) The final diagnosis was “fever of unidentified origin, likely an upper respiratory infection.” Bill: $122.

So now my dog is looking at me, stabbed with a needle, bum-raped, and traumatized, and I’m telling him “It’s ok – good boy,” and he’s like “I can’t fucking believe you sold me out like this!”

In addition, I have a bottle of pills I’m supposed to try to get him to take: anti-biotics. That should be fun.

I hope the little fucker gets better. Here’s a picture of him showing off his not so huge junk:


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