I’m sure you’ve heard the clickety-clack of Foxie Doxie’s nails lately. The sound is so loud, as he’s been been in desperate need of a nail trim. Like, he could go as a sloth for Halloween.
Or as Freddie Krueger.
Or as the Long Island Medium.
Since Halloween is 6 months away, I made an executive decision to take his furry ass to the vet for a nail trim. This is the best $14 I spend.
When it was time to head out for his pedicure, Foxie was super excited to get his leash, and to have his Man Belt removed, since we don’t usually travel with the anti-pee cummerbund. He jumped into the car. He quickly took his spot in his kennel, and he was quiet for the short ride to the vet. It was almost like he was a real, live, well-behaved pup.
Once we got out of the car, my little dachshund felt more like himself. He did his usual screaming. Because OHMIGOD, we are outside in a parking lot where there are smells and cars and other dogs and OHMIGOD have you smelled this?
I walked him over to the utility pole that everybody – well, every dog – marks. Foxie made his urinary contribution. We walked into the vet clinic.
Foxie squealed once we were inside, as is his custom. I held his leash close, and he squealed at the puppy sitting quietly 15 feet away. He squealed when the receptionist said his name. And then he got quiet.
I had 1 eye on the receptionist and 1 eye on Foxie. But I had enough of an eye on The Dachshund Devil that I saw him marking.
I’m sorry to say that this was not our first go-round with marking at the vet’s office. However, it was the very first time the thing Foxie was trying to claim as his own was me.
My dog marked me. My dog peed on my jeans, my socks, and my shoes. You know, so that adorable, impeccably behaved puppy across the room would know that I am taken, clearly claimed by another dog.
I guess I should be flattered.