Mr Peabody bit the helper at the vet's today. There was some kind of tension going on, and the regular vet tech wasn't there. The woman who was supposed to be helping the vet was chatting with the receptionist. The vet, normally a mild-mannered woman, went over to her, and I heard the vet say, "I'm alone back there. If you're here, you're supposed to be helping." The person stomped into the exam room, clearly pissed off, and swooped down on Mr Peabody to put him on the scale. Mr Peabody is easily startled, particularly by things coming at him from above. He's also very protective and I was right behind him. So he bit her wrist. Apparently he didn't break the skin, but left big welts. He's never done anything like that at the vet's before, but the vet and the regular vet tech talk to him a while before they do anything.
Then the vet found that what I thought was normal itching was some kind of allergy that had led to a skin infection.
I feel like a terrible pet owner.
People who work with animals, especially in a high-stress place like the vet, should know to be careful with them. Dogs are dogs, and they react. People are supposed to be smarter.
I'm thinking there's a reason that temp is a temp, if she's got that little sense. And don't get me started on her taking out her ire on poor Mr. Peabody. Not on, Tech.
What a crappy tech.
Then the vet found that what I thought was normal itching was some kind of allergy that had led to a skin infection.
Well, that's why we take our pets in for check ups. You're not a bad pet owner--you gave Mr. Peabody the medical attention that uncovered the underlying problem. Now they can address it.
People who work with animals, especially in a high-stress place like the vet, should know to be careful with them. Dogs are dogs, and they react. People are supposed to be smarter.
Yep. Every vet or vet tech I know would say, "yeah, sure, reactive dog, but that's some IDIOT-level animal handling right there..."
You're not to blame, and both you and Mr Peabody are under some stress.
What they said. Not Mr. P's fault. Nor yours.
I feel like he hasn't been around other people enough over the last few years, because I haven't been around other people much, except for medical personnel.
I'm still hurting a lot from proctoring the midterm. Taking lots of painkillers, and probably going to be sleeping most of the weekend.
Second date with OK Cupid guy went pretty well. We're talking about getting together again sometime next week, but he's sick, so he's not sure when he'll be feeling OK for going out.
There's a woman on Ravelry whose wife just finished chemo. They had a bad bout with reactions a few weeks ago, and she was afraid she was about to lose her wife. I posted a few things about dealing with that fear. Today was the last chemo, they're only doing maintenance things now, so essentially treatments are done. And I can't bring myself to write congratulations. I mentioned that my husband went through chemo. I didn't say he didn't survive the rest of it, she didn't need those thoughts during the dark time. I wish I could share her joy at this stage being done, because it was a relief. But I can't.
Fuck this whole "it takes time" and "everyone grieves differently" shit. I hate having to stand still and let it hurt.
Yeah, none of that's on you, Ginger. My Devi was the sweetest looking little thing ever, but she was ninja blender cat with teeth if you tried anything that wasn't her idea. I warned them and warned them, and even with them being careful, it always sounded like WW3 when she had a blood draw and she got every single tech to donate too. And that was under ideal circumstances. Someone would've died in the circs you describe. (And it wouldn't have been her. Hell, she even did her own dying as impossibly on her terms possible. It took a dose suitable for a Great Dane to just knock her out. She was 7 lbs of Will. Vet was in awe "if she wasn't so incurable sick...")
