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Good day at the clinic yesterday. Nobody near death, and I got lots of puppy kisses. Any day I have to wash my glasses is a good day. The new shoes are still impressive. Two thumbs up.
I'm convinced that the dogs who are quietest at home are the noisiest when boarded. The loudest barkers show no comprehension of the word "Quiet". (It's obvious when a dog knows he's not obeying. I'm sure you dog lovers know the look. These guys simply have no clue they're being addressed.) A habitually silent dog, of course, would never need to learn such a command.
Walking these guys can be an art. They don't get as much exercise as they're accustomed to getting, they're bored, and they're surrounded by strangers while their own humans are nowhere to be found. Then they get outside, and wow, that's heaven. They jump and they run in circles and they sniff and they stand with their heads pointing into the wind. If there's no urgent need, the last thing they want to do is waste any time with bathroom things. They're too busy watching cars or gazing raptly at the lot next door because maybe it might have squirrels. Eventually I have to get them back inside because I've got a lot of work to do, so I casually saunter past the most recent place where a dog has done some important doggy business. You can watch their brains shift gears. Sniff. Sniff. Oh! I remember something like this, something related to this, once, long ago. Sniff. I think I'll walk funny for a few steps, maybe a yard or two. Sniff. Ah yes! NOW I know what I need to do! (All except one, yesterday. His mental process was: Sniff. Take a bite. I guess no routine works perfectly all the time.)
I got to do some of the "checkins" yesterday, which basically means bringing the client and the animal into an exam room, taking temperature/pulse rate/respiration rate/weight, and asking some basic questions. All this gets jotted down in the client's file, on the computer in the exam room, for the doctor to glance at when she arrives. I think this part is fun, actually, boring as it might sound. I get to greet the patient and I get to bond with the owners a bit. Most owners are pleased when I think their dog or cat is cute, which may be why doing this is so enjoyable. They ARE cute, all of them, and I love to talk to them and scritch them. One lady with an elegant Himalayan was so surprised at how well I got along with her cat that she was shocked that I wasn't the vet. (I wonder if the all-blue outfit wasn't a bit of a tip-off.) "You're so good with her!" she exclaimed. (Cat was, at this point, hiding her head in my elbow. Cat didn't seem particularly happy to me, but it's true that hiding in my elbow did show a certain level of trust.) I adore them. I guess it shows. :-)
I'm convinced that the dogs who are quietest at home are the noisiest when boarded. The loudest barkers show no comprehension of the word "Quiet". (It's obvious when a dog knows he's not obeying. I'm sure you dog lovers know the look. These guys simply have no clue they're being addressed.) A habitually silent dog, of course, would never need to learn such a command.
Walking these guys can be an art. They don't get as much exercise as they're accustomed to getting, they're bored, and they're surrounded by strangers while their own humans are nowhere to be found. Then they get outside, and wow, that's heaven. They jump and they run in circles and they sniff and they stand with their heads pointing into the wind. If there's no urgent need, the last thing they want to do is waste any time with bathroom things. They're too busy watching cars or gazing raptly at the lot next door because maybe it might have squirrels. Eventually I have to get them back inside because I've got a lot of work to do, so I casually saunter past the most recent place where a dog has done some important doggy business. You can watch their brains shift gears. Sniff. Sniff. Oh! I remember something like this, something related to this, once, long ago. Sniff. I think I'll walk funny for a few steps, maybe a yard or two. Sniff. Ah yes! NOW I know what I need to do! (All except one, yesterday. His mental process was: Sniff. Take a bite. I guess no routine works perfectly all the time.)
I got to do some of the "checkins" yesterday, which basically means bringing the client and the animal into an exam room, taking temperature/pulse rate/respiration rate/weight, and asking some basic questions. All this gets jotted down in the client's file, on the computer in the exam room, for the doctor to glance at when she arrives. I think this part is fun, actually, boring as it might sound. I get to greet the patient and I get to bond with the owners a bit. Most owners are pleased when I think their dog or cat is cute, which may be why doing this is so enjoyable. They ARE cute, all of them, and I love to talk to them and scritch them. One lady with an elegant Himalayan was so surprised at how well I got along with her cat that she was shocked that I wasn't the vet. (I wonder if the all-blue outfit wasn't a bit of a tip-off.) "You're so good with her!" she exclaimed. (Cat was, at this point, hiding her head in my elbow. Cat didn't seem particularly happy to me, but it's true that hiding in my elbow did show a certain level of trust.) I adore them. I guess it shows. :-)
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Getting other people to stick to the same boundaries must be a real toughie. I see it with my sister and our parents. She allows the dog on a certain piece of furniture, but my parents don't, so the dog is always sneaking onto my parents' couch; my parents allow the dog to sniff around the dishwasher as it's being loaded, but my sister doesn't, so that's a hard boundary for my sister to set. To be fair, I think the dog KNOWS perfectly well what exactly she is allowed to do in whose house. She just thinks she can get away with stuff. :-)