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The Trouble Started

Don Kunz

    The trouble started when I wagged my tail. Yesterday my 14-year-old Golden Retriever, Sally, had come up lame. My fault, really. Sally is like family, but I sometimes forget she’s a grandmother, 98 in dog years. I am unable to say NO when she asks to chase her raggedy-ass tennis ball. I have a weakness for a wagging tail and expectant look. Well, don’t we all? On the third toss, she came back gimping.
    I drove Sally to Southside Veterinary to see Dr. Bender. She has been a regular patient there for annual checkups, tick removal, and heartworm therapy. It was a Saturday; the Dr. was out. A new tech, Miss Thorlow handled the intake and preliminary exam. I sat in the empty waiting room reading Field &Stream.
    Miss Thorlow came back into the waiting area. “Bad news. It’s a compound fracture. She’ll go to the emergency room and then to surgery. Do you have insurance?”
    I put down Field &Stream. “I’d like to see her.”
    Miss Thorlow straightened her white coat and brushed at a spot of blood. “Sorry, only members of the immediate family are allowed in the examination rooms.”
    I can take a hint. I dropped to all fours, let my tongue hang out, and cocked my head like I was listening to my master’s voice.
    Miss Thorlow smiled. “I’ll accept that for an ID. But no barking.”
    I whined softly and slunk toward Miss Thorlow tail between my legs.
    “STOP,” she commanded. “SIT.”
    I sat. I was careful not to drool, but I panted.
    “GOOD BOY! Now, HEEL.”
    I rested my head behind Miss Thorlow’s knee and padded after her to the exam room door. When she stopped, I sat and waited for it to open. I had been well trained. An older male, I struggled to sit watching a female open a door for herself.
    The door opened. “STAY,” Miss Throlow ordered.
    But I was too excited. I couldn’t help breaking command. I galumphed into the room. Yes, galumphed, because I’m a big dog. If a guy is going to be a dog, I figure be a big one.
    Inside the exam room my best girl, well, woman, okay, grandmother lay stretched out, restrained on a stainless steel table. I was frantic, rushed over, stood on my hind legs. The nails on my front paws skittered against the metal. Sally raised her head and sighed.
    Miss Thorlow’s voice filled the room. “DOWN. DOWN, BIG BOY.”
    I turned and fell back to the tile floor, my paws scrabbling for purchase. I wagged my tail. I know now that was when the trouble started. Even Vet Techs have expectations. They have desires and dreams.
    Miss Thorlow bent down and rubbed my ears. “GOOD BOY. That’s my GOOOOD BOY.” I kept wagging.
    But this is not an entirely happy story. My Sally died in surgery. I know, I know, she was 98 and a grandmother. Still, I was overcome by grief.
    Fortunately Miss Thorolow has been there for me. She has helped me with closure. Miss Thorlow and I have been together for three months now. I like to think I have helped her fulfill her needs as well. It was foolish of me to not realize from the get go that even a Vet Tech can be dogged by carnal desires.
    Miss Thorlow tells me I’m coming along pretty well. I can reliably “SIT” and “HEEL,” especially after that long weekend spent retraining me with the choke collar. But I still have trouble with “STAY.” And if she asks me one more time to get fixed, well, I’m out of here.

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