The Vet's Office

Dear Elli,

Today we took Roscoe to the vet.  We took him because he needed his nails trimmed, and we don't like to do it at home. 

Roscoe is not sick.  Roscoe is not in pain.  There is not a single thing wrong with Roscoe, aside from the fact that his nails are too long. 

I spent $220 at the vet's office. 

I love Roscoe.  We've had him for eleven years, and he is a member of our family.  He's a fantastic dog. 

But he's a dog.  And yet he gets better medical treatment than any single human member of the family.  We spent close to $1,000 on Roscoe's medical bills this year.  Do you know how much we spent on mine?  Maybe $200.

Let me tell you how this happens.

We take Roscoe to get his nails trimmed.  The nice vet lady gets on her computer and starts tip tapping away while making sorrowful sounds under her breath.

Roscoe is over due for his rabies vaccine, along with 47 other vaccines against canine diseases I've never heard of.  He also needs blood work for his kidneys, liver, a heartworm test, and 52 other bodily function tests.  Because he is "geriatric".  He needs fecal tests.  He needs his urine to be examined.  And he needs his teeth cleaned, which will cost another $500 because he must be asleep during the procedure so he doesn't bite the nice vet lady's face off. 

As she explains these things to me, my eyes narrow.  And I tell her I'm here for his nails to be trimmed, not to spend hundreds of dollars on testing my "geriatric" animal.  He's not sick.  He has long nails. 

She says, "I see....", while she eyeballs me as if I were a murderous monster.  "We want to take good care of our animal friends, because they are members of the family, too.  And Roscoe is such a sweet boy.  I'm sure your family loves him very much". 

She examines his mouth next, and proceeds to comment on how he is desperately in need of a dental cleaning.  When he tries to pull away because she has her fingers lodged in his mouth, she says "Poor boy!  Do your little gums hurt?  I know baby, you really need your teeth cleaned!".

Then she lowers her eyes to the floor in a very sad gesture of defeat, because poor Roscoe could be in the throes of death as he shivers pathetically on the metal exam table.  Even though he's not sick.

I wanted to laugh hysterically.  Or karate chop her in the neck.  Or both.  I wanted to tell her that Roscoe is the most spoiled dog on the planet, and he lives like a tiny king.  I wanted to explain that vet bills should not be more than human medical bills for a dog who doesn't have a single health problem.  I wanted to tell her that my doctor is totally cool with me going five years at a time without blood work, so I'm not sure why the perfectly healthy dog needs it every six months.  I wanted to tell her that, if my eleven-year-old dog is afflicted with a terrible disease, I will not spend thousands of dollars to treat it because I'd rather send my daughter to college someday.  I wanted to tell her to go screw herself.

So I paid for the tests for our perfectly healthy dog with long nails instead.  Because I'm a total idiot and couldn't stand the nice vet lady thinking I'm a dog hating maniac.  And then I got on the phone and bitched all the way home to your father about how ridiculous our vet is.  And I'll probably do the same thing again when I call to schedule his dental cleaning. 

I love you, and I love Roscoe.  But I don't love the vet lady.  She's an asshole.

Mom