We took Otto to a new vet yesterday, one recommended by a fellow bulldog owner. It was a bit further away, and Sam booked a 4.45pm appointment. Some days it is painfully obvious that Sam doesn't drive.
Our nervous little pooch really lost his shit as the vet tried to put a stethoscope up to his chest, it was sad to see.
The vet called for a nurse to help, who was slow to appear, then said we'd put Otto up on the table so he had less space in which to move around.
That was when I stepped in and picked him up in my arms and held him reassuringly on the table so the vet could listen to his chest and examine his front leg on which he intermittently limps.
We bought kebabs somewhere out in the boondocks of Melbourne on our way home. Sam and I sat there in the caravan annex type cafe and ate ours, with Otto parking his arse firmly down looking up at us once we'd givin him the first piece of lamb.
I still think Otto seems a bit sad, but I may well be projecting onto him, I don't know.
Today, I really have nothing to do, so Otto and I are on the couch together while he, I am sure, gets over yesterday's ordeal, haha, not really, he is asleep the way dogs spend most days, and I am pissing around with my old blogs, generating AI images for them and re-write whole sections.
Am I wasting my time, quite frankly in the larger scheme of life, quite possible, but for my own peace of mind, and sense of accomplishment, no way.
Anyway. That's all.
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