The Doctor

I said something yesterday about going to see the doctor. He's a nice guy. He's the only doctor we see most times and I like him a lot more than my vet.

Well, I did like him more than the vet. 'Til he started poking and prodding me.

This guy is something else. He calls J by a different name. He's really casual, and he says everything that goes on in our life impacts our health (mostly hers) and he wants to know about it. He sounds nosey, I know, but he tells us stuff, too. He talks about when he met his wife, his favorite wine, friends he wants to fix her up with, all kinds of stuff. So he's a nice guy--in general.

And then he started poking and prodding me.

I'm a Yellow Lab. We're prone to fat tumors. That's what the vet said. Then he said that the one on my side was nothing to worry about unless it got bigger. Later he said it was too big to do anything about. *sigh* That's why J's doctor was poking me.

He likes me. He tells me that every time I come in there. He's got some cats that he calls pussies and says he'll bring 'em in so I can chase 'em around for the entertainment value. He hasn't yet, but a dog can dream.

Because he likes me, he was upset about the huge, cat-sized lump on my side. J's been pretty upset about it. I don't love it, myself. It's heavy and it gets in the way.

Ultimately, he couldn't do any more than J could. (which is grumble about the Vet and fret about what it may or may not be doing to me)

Long story short, nothing changed and we go back in June or July. We could've done all this over the phone. Oh, well. It would've been worse if he had done something, right? and I got a treat out of the deal.

All's well that ends well, right?

Cosmo