Reub sees the doctor

Reub has been limping for awhile, especially after we play with him, and after he gets up from a nap. Worried about his stiffness and the fact that we should maybe be treating him for arthritis, I finally took him to the vet this morning.

Reub does not like going to the vet. The smell of the clean and attractive office puts him off. The hard, smooth floor reminds him of other institutions in which he has spent long hours, weeks, months. He understands that there is Something For His Own Good in store, and in his mind that can't be a good thing. He communicates this perfectly to me, which only makes us both feel worse. This morning when we arrived, there was nobody in the waiting room, only a fire burning in the stone fireplace, and some empty wooden benches. When I took a seat on one of those benches, Reub climbed carefully up next to me and made himself as small as a 62 pound dog can make himself look, curling up onto my lap, gazing warily out into the quiet room.


The receptionist hurried into the room. "Is this Reuben?" she asked, and he cowered while I said "Yes." Coming towards us, switching into a high pitched tone, she said "We-ell, hell-woh, you sweet bo-yee! You are soooo hand-some too-dayee! Just wook at dose cute lit-toh polkah dots on dat nose!! Hung-weee? Have a tweet! Good bo-yee!" Reub's tail twitched....and then he kissed her. (The fool.) I could have kissed her too; I was so happy that she helped him to relax I could have listened to her baby talk for hours. This is why I pay the Big Bucks to this place.

It was like when I take a malfunctioning car to the mechanic and the car works perfectly while it's there. Reub didn't limp even a little bit while we were with the doctor. The doc, sitting on the floor with a handful of treats, looking away from Reub, offered to be friends. No dice. Finally they took him in another room to check him out, somewhere where he couldn't constantly try to climb into my lap; ten minutes later they were back, Reub more relaxed. At last the doc could examine him, and determined that we had a soft tissue problem, not necessarily arthritis. For another $300 we could see if there is other stuff going on. "No thanks, " I said. "We'll give him some anti-inflammatories and stop letting him make spectacular jumps for the tennis ball." Reub heaved a sigh of relief. The vet will call us in two weeks.


Reub and I are both hoping that we don't have to go back.