A vet who understands...

Today I took Crockett for his yearly check-up and vaccinations. I was sort of nervous because I knew that I would have to bring along his stockpile of drugs and explain several things to the vet: Yes, my dog DOES need these things, Yes, I have tried everything else, and won't you please refill this prescription when the time comes? In the past, I have felt that vets (especially new ones, which is not helpful when you move so often!) have been reluctant to prescribe drugs to Crockett because they are not certain that he really needs them. Like, maybe I am lazy and am using the drug as an easy solution to an easy problem. My greatest fear was that the new vet would question me in the decision to use medication to solve Crockett's separation anxiety issues.

Well, the vet came in, and I recognized a Southern accent and noticed his side swoop haircut. "Great," I thought. "I just left the South, and now I'm going to have to listen to reckon's and fixin's and holler's." (Ok, really I was not upset, I am embellishing for the sake of the story. But, I did recognize the accent and find the situation...ironic.) Anyway, Crockett was a peach and accepted his barrage of shots without a whimper or trying to get away. I was impressed. Maybe Crockett is finally maturing. Or maybe he sensed that this man was a fellow good ol boy from the South. (Crockett was born in Pensacola, FL--aka, Redneck Riviera.)

And then the time came for me to pull out the pill bottles and explain myself. I launched into my spiel, and before I could finish, the good doctor held up his hand. "If it ain't broke ma'am, don't fix it. That's what I always say. Anyway, I can tell this dog is anxious, just by lookin' at 'im. His pupils are swoll up to the size of grapefruits. You just let me know when you need a refill." I could have hugged him.