We took Emmy Lou to the vet last week for what seems to be her yearly "minor paw issue". As in "either she has a paw issue or she's being a douche."
I explained the issues to the vet while Emmy hid behind me, hoping, I suppose, that my goddess-like physique would save her from the anal probe. Which it didn't.
The vet and I discussed the paw/douche situation and then the vet opened Emmy's file and said "So she's...eight."
"No, no," I said, assuming she was looking at the wrong chart, "she's about five and a half."
The vet shook her head "Says here her date of birth is 2001."
"What? No! They told us she was three and a half two years ago. Three and a half!"
"Huh," said the vet, peering at the intake form, "says here they assessed her at around six years old two years ago. I do see a little note from the other vet, who says she might be closer to four, but...Huh."
I nearly burst into tears right there in the vet's office. Because the expiry date on these wrinkly little dogs is generally between 8 and 10.
I grabbed Emmy Lou by the face and said to her "Is this true? Are you an EIGHT YEAR OLD DOG?"
Emmy stared back at me with her big, crossed brown eyes, as if to say "Don't let 'em touch my paws, man! Don't let 'em touch my paws!"
After mistakenly assuming I wanted to be there while they riled my dog up by touching her paws, the vet and her tech sent me out to the waiting room, where I informed Katr that our pooch might be mutton dressed as ornery lamb. She was as shocked as I was. We barely kept it together.
"It's not like this is Logan's Run," Katr said reasonably, as we sat on the comfy reception area bench, trying not to be crying fatties in the lobby, "she's fine and frisky and she'll probably live longer anyway, because she doesn't have the bad skin and allergy problems most shar peis have."
"She is healthy as a whore", I agreed.
"You mean...'as a horse'...right?"
"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh."
"Why would it be healthy as a whore? That doesn't make any sense."
"I just...thought it was ironic."
In the end, it cost me $150 to find out that the dog is just being a douche. A geriatric douche. That our spring chicken might, in fact, be a cougar.
While it's distressing to think that we may not have as much time with her as we thought, the idea that Emmy is on the verge of the seniors discount does clear up a few things. Such as:
- Why she hates puppies ("You kids get off my lawn!")
- The weird vet bills we keep getting for the collagen injections to keep her wrinkles plump
- How she likes to pull her panties up real high
- Why she always waits 'til we're in the car to put on her fragrant hand lotion
Since we'll never really know how old she is, we can't really know when to start expecting her to get a walker and show up for dinner at 3:30 in the afternoon. We'll just have to wait and see. And in the meantime, a certain dog might be getting some extra rubbins. Won't she? Won't she? Yes, she will! Yes she will!
Good dog.
