I brought Penny to the vet yesterday.

It was supposed to be a simple visit – her monthly arthritis injection and a repeat prescription for her monthly arthritis pills [did I mention she has arthritis?] – but sometimes visits to the vet turn into problems with me. After all, that was the place where I had my heart attack a couple of years ago.

Anyhows, Penny was very reluctant to go as she knew what was in store. She fell out of the car as she tried to jump in, so I had to lift her in. Penny hates being lifted. When we arrived at the vets she again fell out of the car and landed on her back. This wasn’t going too well for the poor dog. I dragged her [literally] across the car park to Reception.

I went to open the door to Reception when I noticed I had scratched my wrist somewhere. I have no idea when or where I scratched it but blood was trickling across the back of my hand and down my little finger. Bugger! I went in, weighing Penny on the way [she’s started to lose weight for some reason] and waited for my turn at reception. At this point I was quietly dripping blood on the floor. I booked Penny in and then asked the girl if I could have some tissue or something. I showed her my bloody hand. Panic!

One of the vets came out to see what the fuss was about and I explained that I just wanted a tissue to soak up the blood. No big deal. She roared at me to get into the toilet and wash my hand immediately. The other customers watched on in amusement at all this palaver.

I washed the blood off and dried my hand and came out again. I was ordered [not asked] to sit down while I was treated. I protested. It’s only a scratch I pointed out. The vet at this stage was dabbing my hand with cotton wool soaked in something out of a bottle [probably intended for treating cats?]. She asked how I scratched it. I told her I didn’t know and it was really nothing to fuss over. I explained that just walking into my garden involved a fight with brambles and pointed out all the numerous scars on both arms.

Next thing I realised she was coming at me with a load of bandages. Look, says I, it’s only a scratch and this is getting silly. The other customers were really enjoying all of this. In spite of my complaints she insisted on bandaging my hand with yards of bandage followed by a thick layer of luminous green tape. The vet asked if I liked the colour. I said I didn’t and how the fuck was I to explain this to the Missus. I knew Herself would first have a panic and then accuse me of being in a fight or something. The other customers were laughing out loud at this stage.

She finally finished playing around with my hand and we finally got Penny into the surgery. Penny had her injection and her pills. I then told the vet that she {penny, not the vet] had Cystitis. I got a funny look. I explained the symptoms and my theory but she said she would need a sample of pee. I said I didn’t have one as I had balked at the idea of chasing Penny around with a jam jar. So the vet armed herself with a kidney dish and the three of us went for a walk in the car park. Penny promptly disappeared into some bushes. The vet dived in after her.

The vet emerged shortly and announced that she had a sample. We went back inside and the vet tested the pee. She has Cystitis, said the vet as if she had discovered the Philosopher’s Stone. I said nothing.

I finally left the vets with a disgruntled dog [she had just had an antibiotic injection], two lots of tablets and a heavily bandaged hand.

Penny tried to jump into the car and fell out again.

It just wasn’t our day.

That’s for a small scratch [*sigh*]