Those of you that have pets know how the trip to the vet can at times be a harrowing experince. Sometimes your pet is very ill and the only recourse is to follow the vet’s advice to the letter, even if difficult decisions have to be made. On the other hand, the experience can be just plain embarrassing. Those of you who are following our journey know that we have a 2 year-old Samoyed who is adorable and cute, but also sporty and very strong (remember she is bred to pull sledges). She is also incredibly intelligent.
Well, you’ve guessed it. Today was the start of the vet appointments for the menagerie of the 4 pets we have, and it was Waffles’ turn first. Already the night before, at the word “vet” she immediately pricked her ears up and looked at us. Do you think she understood? We thought so, as she is obviously “our baby” and we are probably excruciatingly annoying for people out there who are not dog lovers. If this applies to you, well you might want to miss this article out.
This morning came after listening to the drunken songs from what we could only surmise was the local rugby club across the valley in the early hours of the morning. Let’s call them the Boisterous Rugby chorus. Note to self, sound carries extremely well in the mountains, doesn’t it! Dashing to the car, or rather being dragged to the car, she got in… or should we say she was shoved unceremoniously in, and off we trotted to the vet. Usually she is pretty quiet on the trips, but immediately when she saw the small private parking we were pulling into, she gave a shrill yelp. Remember she is now over two years old, and the last time she had been here at the vets was when she was just a few months. Carrying her out of the car she immediately splayed her paws and refused to go through the front door. Half pulling, half carrying a squirming 26kg dog which had decided she had not been privy to making an appointment to the said vet, and so why should she make any effort to go in, I managed to get her into the waiting room. Bless her. Sliding for a second across the scales, her weight was recorded. Once she settled, she was stuck like glue to my leg until it was our turn. Whilst waiting, the manic howls of a “stray” cat trapped in its carry-cage kept us jarringly on tenderhooks, much to the embarrassment of the owner. Isn’t it funny the excuses we come up with when our pets (and children) don’t behave? “Oh they don’t usually do that” or “she’s usually so quiet at home,” or “usually my husband/wife deals with them, I don’t usually look after them…” The best one is…
“I don’t think they bite…”
Err, either they do or they don’t. There should be no doubt!
Our turn came and that was it. Immediately Waffs decided she wasn’t going to go into the surgery and with all four legs splayed she had to be slid through the open door much to the giggle of the people left in the waiting room. Yes, there was a titter. Sigh. The same circus carried on inside the surgery. A squirming mass of dog hunkered under my armpit, or cowered behind my daughter’s legs, peeping every now and then so see when the coast was clear. Let us just say she was like a rocket of white fluff when she was able to escape out of the front door. Making it home, once again the lint remover brush had to come out before people started mistaking us for yetis! Since having a Samoyed, it is the one item in the house that has upped it’s usage by about 500%.
Settling in to the mountain village has been slow as we seem to be tied to opening boxes and putting objects away, and even finding things that had been temporarily lost. There is always that temporary excitement of the first glimpse of a forgotten item and then the confusion for the rest of the day as to why that item was packed in that box, and why was the flange that went with the thingamajig not in the same said box?
We’ll get there.
The pleasures of living in a small village though are starting to accumulate. Little things like being able to walk to the market and the local shops, hearing the local festivities from an open window or just knowing the complete isolation of the remote farmhouse is no longer. I think we are still really excited to become a part of the local village life and meet more of the families that make this unique community what it is.
MidLife Crisis In France
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