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When I was a wee Chickie, my grandmother sat me down and gave me some advice. The first was not to buy secondhand clothes. I didn’t listen. The second was that I should always sit with my knees together. I didn’t listen. The third was to always wear clean underpants. I wouldn’t know just how sage this advice was for many years. I have come to discover a few noble truths of my own in the years I’ve been working in clinics, and one of those is that there are three general types of dog. There are the ones that will go into a kennel willingly (a.k.a. “Good-Puppies”), the ones that will go into a kennel through the miracle of bribery (“Food-Motivated”), and the ones that have to be hefted over your shoulder and crammed into a kennel before they can dart back out. These last ones are also known as “Non-Budgers.” Non-Budgers never show up at the beginning of your shift when you’re awake, fresh and ready to meet the challenges of the day. They invariably wander in toward the end of the day when your patience, your nerves, and your scrubs are stretched to their very limits, then proceed to test them all at the same time. “Fritz” was your typical Non-Budger; playful and obedient in the exam room where the owners can fawn on him, and a lump of granite in the treatment room. “Fritz” also weighed about 40 pounds and had extremely short legs. In this last respect I felt we were equally matched, so I proceeded to lead him to the treatment area. I got his vitals without incident and put a fluffy blanket into a kennel that was at least 3 times his size and attempted to lead him in. That was when the trouble started. Fritz took one look at the kennel and planted his massive hindquarters square on the linoleum. I pulled. He sat. I pushed. He continued to sit. I tried my favorite trick to get a dog into the kennel, which is tossing in a few chewy treats, to no effect. So I moved on to my second favorite trick to get a dog into his kennel, which would be crawling into the kennel myself and making it look really inviting and comfy. Fritz was having none of it. Frustrated, sweaty, and absolutely dying for a glass of water, I went for the last resort. I stormed over to where Fritz was sitting, calmly licking himself and squatted down to his level. That was when I heard the sound. At first I thought my knees had finally blown out. I had been tormenting them relentlessly for years and they had been threatening to go on strike since the recent cold snap, so they were the natural first choice until I felt another sort of cold snap in the area of my backside. Too late I remembered the weak seam in my scrub bottoms and shot into a standing position with Fritz wriggling in my arms. Fairly tossing Fritz into his kennel, I scooted toward Dr. W’s office where the auxiliary uniforms are kept, skirting the wall so as not to give a further view of my underthings. I slammed her door and she stared at me as I rummaged through the closet and found a pair of pants that might fit me and proceeded to change. Dr. W asked me what was wrong, so by way of showing her I held up my pants. There was no salvaging them by now. The seam had given way in the middle of the pants and shredded all the way up to the waistband. I shuddered to think about the show I had given the treatment area as I pulled my new extra-extra-large pants up around my chest and went back to work. I was grateful, however, that I had thought to wear my new underpants this morning. I bought them the day before because I thought the little penguin on the front was cute, then was equally enthused by the fact that the word “SWEET” was stenciled across my backside. Like a lot of things, it seemed like a good idea at the time. When I went back into the treatment room to work on my chart I was relieved to see that there was no one around. If anyone I knew had been present for the fun, they would have surely begun their teasing already. There was no one around but me, a couple of patients, and the security camera, which only Dr. R has access to. By the time I took the chart into Dr. R’s office I had forgotten all about the unfortunate incident and was concentrating more on keeping my pants from sliding down to my waist and making me look like a certain early 90's rap star. “I’ve got his tech exam finished and we’re ready for you anytime,” I said, attempting to keep myself at least slightly professional. “Although I would suggest doing your full exam and collecting samples at the same time. He’s not exactly thrilled about getting into his kennel.” “All right. I’ll be out in just a moment.” Dr. R turned back to her computer for a second, then cleared her throat without looking up. “It’s a good thing you’re such a SWEET girl.” She was trying very hard not to giggle as she spoke. By way of a reply, I simply pulled my pants up further toward my shoulders and went back to the treatment area, hoping there was nothing around for me to trip on.   |
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