The weather is a bit warmer today, its good to see the back of the crisp white frost that has been covering the grass. Not that everything is perfect today. Dad is playing his guitar again, badly! It seems to ring in my ears and I feel the primordial need to howl. I much prefer it when he plays the air guitar, to music on his CD player. He was singing and strumming some sort of a made up blues number. The first line went "Poppy woke up this morning, Poppy woke up again this afternoon." Dad and humour has to be endured in small doses, I can see its going to be one of those days.
I like to think that dad is a good dog person. However today he started talking to me about cats. It seems that dad has owned several cats in the past. Malcolm, was a black and white cat. Squeak was an all white cat who got his name because he would not stop begging for food. Midge, was another all white cat who was deaf and so very quiet. Then there was a tabby called One-Eyed Willy, who lost one eye in a collision with a car. It seems that dad spent a fortune at the vets getting Willy fixed up. Then there was last but not least, my bed stealing opponent Jasper. Jasper is at the venerable age of 27years and is very ancient. Now what was it that W.C.Fields said, I think it was something like "A man that hates cats, can't be all bad" I must have a word with dad about the correct position of cats in the pet hierarchy on the boat.
It seems from overheard conversations that a visit to the vet is being planed for you know who! Now, I am a pretty laid-back sort of a pooch. I tend not to get all uptight about anything other than Jasper the cat being in my bed. However, I am prepared to make an exception whenever it comes to a visit to the vet.
It seems I am due a booster injection on my immunisation record card. Now, I am quite a brave girl, I take most things in my stride. However, the vet always wants to give me a full physical check-out. He will pull at my paws, feel at me in strange places, peer down into my ears and shine that annoying light into my eyes. He even puts a cold hard object on my skin and listens to my heart. However, there is one procedure that I do object to. That's having that thermometer thing shoved up my bottom. A dog is entitled to dignity and there is not a single shred of dignity left, when you are stood on a table with a thermometer hanging out of your bottom.
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| Just Say No! To Rectal Thermometers |
Now humans have thermometers that fit in your mouth and there are even modern ones that can measure temperature without actually needing to touch anyone. So how come us pooches have to suffer the indignity of the rectal thermometer treatment. So I am about to start a campaign called "Dignity For Dogs" with the aim of banning rectal thermometers being used by vets on dogs. We wires have to stand up on our hind paws and be counted. This undignified treatment must end. We have waited to long for more modern treatment methods. It no good waiting for our Politicians. Dad says "You can always tell when a politician is lying - their lips move."
Wires will fight them on home visits. Wires will fight them in the treatment rooms. Wires will fight them in the surgery. Wires will fight them in the theatres. Wires will never surrender, Wires everywhere will say "This was their finest hour."
I like the sound of that, it scans well and it has a bit of a ring to it, I wonder if it will catch on!
Yip Yap.
XX Poppy
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