160: Hard as Nails

I went to her vet again this week - just for a kennel cough injection.  Well, I say injection - it was sprayed up my nose -very unpleasant.

And in the previous sentence, I used the word ‘just’.

TOWTSH had other ideas.  While I was there (captive in the vet’s surgery),he asked if the vet would take a look at my feet and particularly my claws - as I had evidently been licking and chewing them for a couple of days, as if they were bothering me.  I don’t remember this but I cannot deny that it was a possibility.

The vet (another 12 year old female) observed my feet, prodded them, rubbed them and observed some more.  She reported there was nothing wrong.  I was just about to breathe a sigh of relief when she said “but I’ll trim her claws anyway even though they are not too bad”.

In my mind, vets should do things when something is too bad. More ‘just in time’ than ‘just in case’.  But no, off she went to get her torture instruments and proceeded to trim my claws.

You will all have had your nails trimmed.  But your nails are a fraction of the thickness of mine. The vet had to use brute strength to get the clippers to go through my claws.As the trimmed portion fell to the floor, it bounced, rattled and scraped - clearly a large, sharp object.  This was, of course, repeated for each claw and I have quite a few of them.

From a simple blast of medicine up my nose, the vet visit turned into an ordeal.

Why do vets need to exist?