A Letter To My Younger Self
July 8 | 1 Comment
When he told me his parents had made a special appointment for him upon their return, I knew what was in store for this admirable young dog. I didn’t have the heart to tell him then, so I wrote him a letter and stuffed it under his doggie bed before I left.
I don’t know whether the letter was for him or really to my younger self.
Anyway, here it is in its full form.
Hello rookie. I hear it’s time for a special visit to the veterinarian’s office. It’s not as bad as some make it out. It’s worse.
I’m not here to scare you, but just give you the straight facts of what to expect. An informed dog is a prepared dog.
The day will start like any other, except that you’ll not have received food or water for the past twelve hours. Go ahead, check your food bowl repeatedly and whine all you want but nothing will be forthcoming from your owners. Hopefully you’ve thought ahead and have a spare bran muffin stuffed in your fur suit.
It won’t be long before you’re owners offer up a ‘ride’. Yes, you’ll jump for joy in hopes of heading to the dog park. What you’ll get instead is a trip to your favorite doctor’s office.
You’ll arrive, jump out of the car and walk towards the office. It will smell better than a French bakery at 8:00am in Paris. Some say it’s as if a mail truck spilled its contents of letters and packages on the lawn, but in reality these are just the messages left by dogs prior to your arrival. Smell them and they tell tales, things like, “I’m so dry I’m running out of ink,” and “I’m dizzy. I need fud,” and “Kat’s suck.”
If you’re up to it, leave your own mark here. Don’t worry, a number two is allowed too. Yeah, leave it right there in front of the big window. Nice.
Pull your owner inside and you’ll be greeted warmly by the staff. They’ll call you by your first name and tell you how cute you are. They have free biscuits at the counter meaning you won’t have to do a trick to get one. If you’re lucky there will be a cage of kittens you can taunt. If there’s a parrot, leave him alone. He’s smarter than you.
It will appear like a big party and you’ll wonder what the big fuss is all about, but that’s exactly what they want you to think. Before you know it you’re whisked away through the swinging doors and into the back.
They’ll shave an arm.
They’ll put a hole in your skin.
They’ll put a tube into it.
They’ll ask you to start counting squirrels in your head.
“…hey buddy…hey buddy…how you doing? “
You’ll wake from a groggy sleep.
Ice chips will be offered to your dry, chapped lips while you slowly get your wits about you. It will feel like hours pass you by as you lay there, mainly because that’s how long it takes to recover. At some point you’ll smell your owners’ presence. Your name will be called, but before you’re reunited, a most devious device will be wrapped around your neck. Yes, the cone of shame.
Released to your owners’ control you will be driven home. Once there, you’ll find your favorite spot, plop down and start to think about the day you just had.
Did all this transpire? Was it a bad dream? Did someone steal your soul?
No, my friend, your soul is still intact, but they did take something from you. Quite simply, they took your reason for living; your balls were just sent to their forever home.
I hope you have visitation rights.
I should have been so lucky as to have read this letter when I was young. Who knows, I could be packing heat today if I did.