Sneaky and Sharp Nails

Just the other day Whiny made the comment to the three little pigs that I was growing up too fast and leaving my puppyhood behind. But I’m pretty sure that after the big-puppy scene I pulled at the SCARY doctor’s office, Whiny has withdrawn her comment.

The two-legs in this world don’t seem to be able to smell fear like we dogs do. If they did, there is no way in my big backyard that Whiny would ever take me to the doctor’s office. Before she opened the car door to let us out, the air was full of hundreds of dog scents, each one of them stuffed full of anxiety. And even though my little bladder said I needed to pee, when Whiny put me down on the ground, I was as dried up as a metal water bowl stuck out in the glaring afternoon sun.

Whiny carried me in her arms into the office, with me struggling all the while to get down just like I do when the long-legged animals with the flashy tails go running past Wish Island and I’m penned inside with the boring dumb-headed flowers. Holding me tight, Whiny managed to make me stay in her lap as we sat in a room, both of us staring at the door where animals and their two legs disappeared. Of course, I couldn’t read what the printed sign said on the outside, but I’m pretty sure it said Torture Chamber.

From somewhere behind the door that no dog ever came back out of, these terrible noises sounded, similar to the ones made by the monsters with sharp teeth and tiny front legs who roared from inside the black box that Noisy watches. Those terrifying things were chomping on tiny two-legs and enjoying every bite. The thought of all the gore made me shake big time, wondering if Whiny would put on her mad face if I dribbled just a little spot or two of pee on this already smelly floor.

Two days later the door opened, and a two-legs with a broad smile pasted on her face said, “Buttons Galore, are you here?” I could detect an undercurrent of sneakiness even though she had sugar coated her voice, making it sound higher than my two-legs voice when sparks flew around and around in the heating box mounted on the wall in her kitchen because she forgot the rules and put something shiny inside of it. The fake two-legs put off a scent sort of like the sly fox who casually strolls just outside my backyard fence and taunts me by waving his magnificent tail as he passes by.

I shrilly barked my distrust of this sneaky two-legs, but Whiny only shushed me as we rose from the chair and stepped through the opening that led to H E double L. (I’m not sure exactly what that means but Whiny often spells it out when failing in her attempt to hammer nails into the wall.)

Leaving Whiny in a tiny room with a metal tabletop, Sneaky whisked me off before I had a defense in place and she sat me on a flat piece of metal so slick with other dogs terrified scents I swear I could have slipped right off. (Doesn’t anyone in this place have a bottle of cleaner?)

Picking me up, she declared to the walls that I weighed 7.8 pounds. I know she couldn’t have been talking to me, because as far as I was concerned, I wasn’t in this room with Miss Sneaky as I had decided to have nothing, mark my tail, NOTHING to do with her. If there had been a window open to look inside my head, Sneaky would have seen me running and jumping in my own backyard, far, far away from this place.

My suspicions were right! Coming back from dreamland I found Sneaky holding me perfectly still with her strong hands while the doctor two-legs proceeded to stick me three times with nails. (I know they were nails because Whiny accidentally hammered me with one when I nosed my way between a board and her hammering hand.) The doctor’s last sharp nail sending burning ants spreading out in all directions beneath my fur, causing me to cry, and cry and cry some more.

Whiny practically pushed the two villains away, scooping me up and trying to sooth me with soft words. But the ants just kept on stinging, and I just kept on crying. I could tell by the way Whiny’s scent changed from medium calm to full momma-bear mode that she was just as upset over the stinging ants as me.

Taking full advantage of her alliance with her “wittle” baby, I looked straight into her eyes and barked the order to bite the doctor! And although she couldn’t really understand me, she at least understood my distress. Pulling back her lips and exposing all her teeth like I do when that dang Shere Khan crosses over onto my courtyard, she asked in a very unkind voice, “Are you through hurting Buttons?”

All smiles, the doctor, who apparently was used to momma-bears and probably had a nail in her pocket to use on them if they became too aggressive, said sweetly that Buttons only needed to chew the flea medicine tablet that she was now cramming down my throat. And of course, I used my tongue to push it back out and yapped, “Like H E double L I will!”

I spat it out a few more times, requiring something tasty to wrap it in before I’d accept it. Finally giving in and chewing it up in seconds, praying it was a June bug whose wings would tickle my throat and keep me from feeling the ant swarm moving slowly down my backbone. Then I concentrated really hard to find the grass of my backyard once again inside my head and I disappeared from the room.

What I really did was turn my dirty, doggie butt toward the two that had inflected so much pain, and tucked my little snout deep into the underarm of my two-legs, my protector, my very own Whiny. Just inhaling the scent of her calmed me down, and soon I was lost in the dark, welcoming pit of my rescuer’s arm. And no matter how many dog biscuits they waved over my body, nor how many good scratches that mean pair gave me on my way out the door, I NEVER turned my head toward them again. I was done with their meanness forever! Too bad my sharp puppy teeth didn’t graze one of them.

Once back in the car, I pulled my leash clip as far as I could, and managed to lay my nose on Whiny’s right thigh. Never looking up to see what was passing, nor caring where we were going. That is, until I smelled the most wonderful smell in my whole five months of life, my first ever McDonalds! I was in doggie heaven.

Whiny says we have to go back to the torture chamber again one of these days. I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and wonder if Rhett Butler would care to go along and take my place when the doctor drags out the nails. Frankie seemed to indicate when he visited the other day that he could easily be persuaded to do anything for me. I wonder if I told him that he could share in my McDonald’s treat afterward if that would help ease the pain he will surely have to endure for his bestest friend.

Boys are such pushovers!