A Dingo's guide to behaving at the vet.

It's funny how people's dogs reflect their owner's personality quirks and that most certainly applies to both of The Dingoes. Dingo Jack has the essence of mischief and offbeat sense of humor that I frequently display, particularly when I'm at work. Dingo Carter on the other hand definitely represents the focus I display when pursuing things I loves (his ball is his life) and my tendency to be surly and antisocial at times. Both of The Dingoes are very intelligent and are very good at problem solving in their own ways. Since they are Dingoes and have the essences of my personality taken to the extreme, public outings can be very embarrassing for me......especially when we visit the vet.

Where these two go, mischief and mayhem are sure to follow.

Last week I made the decision to have Dingo Carter's front dew claws removed (at our vet's suggestion) since he seems to rip one off at least one every three to four months. I always dread going to the vet because The Dingoes always seem to go out of their way to showcase just how unruly they can truly be. I started the day out by having to drop Carter off at the vet before 9:00 in the morning, which is an ungodly hour for me to be up because I work until 11:30 at night most days of the week. This means that Jack was going to be home by himself for most of the day, something that very rarely happens these days since the main reason I adopted Carter four years ago was to keep Jack company when I'm gone. Carter gave me a very forlorn, "They are going to kill me!", look as I was leaving, which was very effective at pulling my heart strings. I then ran errands for about four hours knowing that Dingo Jack was at home alone and most likely was up to as much mischief as he could into. I was not disappointed when I got home to check on him.

To start with, Jack is pretty bonkers whenever I come home, but today it was like he had done several lines of cocaine while I was gone. He pretty much bouncing off the walls and ceiling and damn near tore holes in my shirt with his claws from jumping all over me. It was then that I realized I had made a grave error, I had forgot to put up the (supposedly Dingo-proof) kitchen garbage. Jack has never been able to knock over the squat, rectangular stainless steel garbage can I have, but he has devised a method of extracting the garbage sack, thus eliminating the need to knock the can over. True to his reputation, there was garbage strewn throughout the entire apartment, all of it licked as clean as possible or torn to shreds. It was quite clear that Dingo Jack was very proud of his cocaine fueled garbage frenzy.

I then had more errands to run, so I left Jack at home to do even more lines of cocaine in preparation for his visit with the vet later in the afternoon. When I returned, he was more than ready to go and was sporting a very disconcerting look on his face. It was at that time that I knew I was in for an epic Dingo experience at the vet. First we had to drive all the way across town in late afternoon Missoula traffic, which was heavy that day. It should be noted that both Dingoes absolutely abhor the new Dingoemobile I bought back in June of last year......primarily because they have to ride in the back instead of up front with me. Both of them have been loudly protesting this unjust arrangement ever since and by protesting, I mean howling like banshees every time we go anywhere. Jack decided he was going to "cry like Nancy Kerrigan" for the duration of the journey and cry he did....with gusto. If you've never seen the phenomenon, go here: Cry like Nancy Kerrigan

"Why? Why? Why?!?!"

Finally the moment of my final atonement arrived and we pulled into the parking lot at the vet's office. For some odd reason, Dingo Jack's reaction to going to the vet is the polar opposite of Dingo Carter's (primarily because Jack hasn't had an anal abscess that had to be lanced or dew claws to rip off, so he really has never had a bad vet experience) and he immediately switched to "LOOK HOW MUCH COCAINE I DID!!" mode. The one vet tech that works at the office knows us well and I can hear her sigh audibly every time I walk in the door with either or both of The Dingoes. This is where the experience switches to one of extreme frustration and embarrassment for me. In fact, I'm pretty surprised I didn't spontaneously burst into flames from embarrassment during any given moment of the experience. We were quickly ushered into an examination room, lest Dingo Jack cause a serious scene in the waiting room (did I mention the office staff knows all about us?). Upon entering the room, the poor vet was promptly mugged by the cocaine charged Dingo Jack and his first comment was, "He sure doesn't act like a dog who is nearly nine years old." I was tempted to correct him on his mistake, The Dingoes are NOT dogs. Jack genuinely enjoys the vet's attention and was more than happy to be up on the exam table......that is until it came time to examine his ears. As soon as the vet grasped Jack's right ear, Jack shrugged him off and snapped at him. I have NEVER seen him snap at anyone like that. Ever. Undeterred, the vet made a second attempt only to get a very up close and personal view of Jack's bared teeth. As far as Jack was concerned, this wasn't going to go down without the vet losing flesh or preferentially, a few digits for him to make a necklace out of and wear around his neck. The vet then produced a muzzle from out of nowhere and on it went.......which Jack then removed in less than the span of three seconds (not kidding), all the while laughing maniacally at our feeble attempts to deprive him of any of the vet's fingers. At this point, the vet was genuinely surprised and on the muzzle went, this time with me doing my best to restrain the Dingo while informing the vet that Jack had done more cocaine today than Charlie Sheen does in a week. Now, I've had to hold Dingo Carter in exams before and have been praised for how tenacious and effective my restraining techniques are. Cocaine Jack was far too much for the both of us and the vet said he needed to take him to the back to get help. I'm pretty sure I could hear a huge commotion coming from the back room with the sounds of items falling off of shelves along with profuse yelling and swearing as the office staff attempted to inspect Jack's ears, give him his shots, and trim his claws. The vet reappeared with Cocaine Jack a few moments later with all digits intact and no visible evidence of bodily harm, looking as though he had just had a brush with death itself and very relieved to have the ordeal behind him.

"Come any closer with that thing and you are going to lose some fingers, asshole."

As you have probably noticed, Dingo Carter has been absent for most of this adventure. This is because he spent the morning in surgery and the afternoon recovering. After the vet's near death at the mercies of Cocaine Jack, the vet returned leading a limping Dingo Carter resplendent in a cone of shame. Carter's misery was palpable and I think even Jack felt sorry for the state he was in. Carter was still somewhat groggy and VERY unhappy about the apparatus that was fastened to his head. Naturally, a cone of shame adds a significant amount of width to a Dingo's body and it was no surprise that Carter got it stuck on the door frame. One would think he would back up for a another try or at least step to side to get through the door. So pronounced was his displeasure that he just stood there with the cone stuck up against the door frame for several seconds giving me the most withering look I have ever seen him give. Eventually I scooped him up off the floor and placed him on the exam table so the vet come give him one last look before we went on our (less than) merry way. Getting the dogs out of the clinic and into the Dingomobile was uneventful.....except Carter repeated his "get the cone stuck on the door frame and refuse to move any further while giving a withering stare" routine. I'm pretty sure I heard another audible sigh of relief from the staff as we left the clinic.

By now it was five o'clock on a Friday afternoon and traffic was in full swing for us on the drive home. The usual "Symphony Of Sorrow" performance was extra exuberant with Jack once again crying like Nancy Kerrigan on lead and Carter providing backup vocals with his pronounced moaning. The symphony was so enthusiastic that we garnered many looks from people in vehicles next to us at stop lights, Jack in particular was very proud while Carter just wanted to get home and be done with the cone of shame. There was one final performance of getting the cone stuck on the door frame of the apartment by Dingo Carter. That was quickly followed by the removal of said cone of shame and Carter happily limped off to the bed to go to work in earnest on his bandages.

Ultimately I was able to cut Carter's bandages off a few days later without losing any of my own fingers to his bared teeth and it looks like Dingo Jack was able to recover from his cocaine binge. I also once again managed to escape from spontaneously bursting into flames from embarrassment, maybe next time will be the time my number comes up. I'm certain our vet clinic is happy to be rid of us for what hopefully will be another year, though that only gives The Dingoes that much more time to formulate their plans for maximum chaos, discord, and destruction.