My bath is always very exciting. I’m patient and still while I’m in the sink getting rubbed and soaped and sprayed, but as soon as she puts me down, I run in circles, shake, and try to wipe the wet off on the couch. Today I was rubbing away having a great time when the lights went out. Huh? I felt myself falling. I hit the floor, then heard some dog crying from far away–was that me? The next thing I knew I was awake and Ellie had picked me up, bundled in a wet towel. She put me in the back seat of the car and drove us to the doggie doctor a few blocks away.

I was still trying to understand what had happened and didn’t even squirm when she picked me up in my towel and carried me in. She sat with me on a chair and then we went into the little room with the cold metal table. By this time I was shaking, with a dim memory of all the awful things they have done to me in this office–stuck me, shaved me, probed me, put me in a cage for the day. Ellie finally put me down on the floor and I walked around, sniffing things. The man doctor came in, they put me on the table and, sure enough, he stuck something in my butt, then felt me all over and looked in my eyes, ears, and mouth. Lose something?

I was getting bored with the whole visit, but I could tell Ellie was more relaxed than she had been since I fell down. What was that anyway? I heard something about “not enough oxygen to the brain” and “seizure” and “vocalizations.” Then they took me away from Ellie and stuck me with a needle. Not too bad after the first prick.

Finally we got home and I got to have something to eat. After all the fuss, my fur had dried, so I curled up to take a nice nap.Ellie is always saying, “Getting old is no fun.” Maybe she’s right.