Yesterday was a very bad day for Rosa Parks.
A trip to town to see the veterinarian is not a fun outing for any of my dogs, but I think it’s hardest on Rosa Parks. Though she’s a loving and loyal little dog, she is extremely selective about who she’ll make friends with. My daughters, my son-in-law, three of my grandchildren, and me. That’s it. The veterinarian is not on her list.
Another quirk my Chihuahua has is that she does not like to wear stuff. No cute hats or sweaters for Rosa Parks; she doesn’t even like a collar. Because her neck is larger than her head, she can’t be forced to wear one, either. “Off,” I imagine her thinking as she uses a paw to scrape it past her ears, over and over again.
I finally gave up on the collar, and got her a bright pink harness. It’s her favorite color (I think) and much better suited to her body-type. She will wear it when necessary, for trips when she needs to be on a leash. It doesn’t take long, though, for her to have shifted it so that she’d wearing it over only one shoulder, or around her waist, with loose ends dragging behind. Clearly, she wants it off.
My other dogs are similarly negative about any encumbrances. Blackie Chan can “Houdini” his way out of his harness in a matter of seconds, while sitting on my lap in the car! Even Darla, my most compliant dog, has managed, of late, to slide out of her collar. As they weasel their way out of any restraint, I picture Mel Gibson in Braveheart, and his battle cry, “Freedom!”
Rosa Parks is the worst, though. When the dogs go to the groomer, for bath, blow dry and a few other incidentals, they each get a seasonal, decorative bandana tied around their neck. Rosa Parks, who has to be muzzled for the treatment, wears a bitter scowl until the muzzle comes off. Then, she works that kerchief off her neck, and tramples on it. If she could spit, she’d spit on it!
A trip to the veterinarian is a nightmare on many levels. She has to be muzzled; she has bitten me twice. I know it was not intentional…she was aiming for the doctor…but it’s still unacceptable. Then, she will be poked and prodded by people she doesn’t like, and doesn’t trust. It’s always traumatic. I used to bring all three dogs in at the same time, but one dog’s terror affects all of the dog’s experience. Lately, I’ve been making them individual appointments.
Yesterday, it was Rosa Parks. She needed her annual heartworm check and heartworm preventative for the warm weather months. Since her brother, Blackie Chan, has recently been diagnosed with some pretty serious heart problems, we planned an X-ray to check on that. And, she desperately needed her nails clipped.
We started with the nails. No matter how many times I try to put a positive spin on it, Rosa Parks does not want the procedure, even when it’s called a “mani-pedi.” Regardless of how closely I hold her, assure her that it will be okay, and tell her that she’s a good girl, Rosa Parks is a maniac. She jerks and thrashes and fights. She tries every tactic she can manage to try to get away. I hold her tightly; the doctor has a steady hand. Still, we usually have at least one incident of a nail getting cut too close. Yesterday was no exception.
It was a stubborn injury, too, that refused to stop bleeding, even after several applications of the styptic powder. The doctor finally bandaged the paw with gauze, wrapped it in a bright blue ace bandage, and sealed that with a bit of adhesive tape. Next, the blood draw for the heartworm test. Then the X-ray, when she had to be handed over to the assistant, to hold her in place.
By that time, Rosa Parks had quit fighting. Her fierce glare above the muzzle assured me that she wasn’t collapsing from lack of oxygen, but had simply finally given in to her helpless position. Soon, she was back in my arms, and the muzzle was removed. A short consultation, a couple prescriptions, a bill printed out, and we were out the door.
Then, Rosa Parks started immediately working to get the bandage off. She’d loosened it by the time we got home, making it look like she had a big blue slipper on one foot. She limped melodramatically, and sat right down to continue chewing at the wrap. She kept right at it, through the day and on into the evening. I found the blue ace bandage on the laundry room floor. The gauze was not far away. Freedom!
The adhesive tape, however, has slid down to the wider part of Rosa’s foot, and is firmly stuck to the hair there. Having suffered enough indignity, she refuses to let me remove it. Having shed the bulk of it, I suppose she’s decided this much can stay on.