I had just recovered from the stupid holiday of America when my evil, deceptive mother asked me if I wanted to go for a ride in the car. I mean, of course I want to ride in the car. "To the bank! To the post office! To the park!" I was thinking. But no. I should have known. She'd been saying stuff about how Tuesday would be a bad day for a dog, but I ignored her (she says dumb stuff a lot of the time).
I should have known when the car ride was taking a lot longer than usual. And then we arrived there. Had my horrible mother taken me to the park? No. The bank (to get a treat from the teller)? No. The post office? No. The Cupcake Emporium? No.
That bitch took me to the vet. I'm so mad at her right now I could just bite her.
It was the worst vet appointment ever! (Well, second worst. That time I broke my foot when I was a small pup was pretty terrible.) They violated me and poked me and even cut my nails. I was trying to go for a Guinness World Record with my nails. AND, I'm fatter now. I've gained a pound. This weight gain is not good for my dog self-image. Then they put me on the table that goes up and I freaked out some more.
The vet is actually a pretty nice guy, but I hate what he and his evil assistants do to me. I shake and get so nervous, and I don't even have time to talk or hang out with the other dogs.
I used to poop on the floor when I went to the vet, but now that I'm 5 I can't do that anymore. I've matured.
Anyway, I think I'm going to spend the rest of the day on the couch watching reruns of the Westminster Dog Show and looking out the window.
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