Bloodwork Part I
Saturday began as all days do for me: hungry. Unfortunately for me, it was also a weekend so that meant that breakfast might be later than usual. Still, it seemed that Mom was making even less of an effort to come down and feed me (um, I mean, US).
Here we are waiting patiently at the bottom of the stairs.
I pointed out Bathsheba's empty dish, but to no avail. THEN Mom says, "No breakfast!" And Dad brings out the prisoner transport unit (PTU). It's off to the vet for me! I tried to protest, and I put up a good fight about being put into the PTU, but with both Mom AND Dad fighting against me, they managed to shove me inside. While I often holler a lot in the car, this time I decided not to waste my breath because I've come to learn that it's a futile effort.
Once at the vet, appropriately named BATTLEFIELD Animal Clinic, we were greeted by Gypsy the office manager and receptionist. She turned to say something to a fellow staff member just as Mom snapped her picture.
See next post for a continuation, since Blogger is being uncooperative and won't let me post more pictures here.