We used to have a dog that loved going to the vet. All you had to do was say the word and she grab her leash and sit in front of the door. This was a blessing, as the poor puppy had something similar to sickle-cell anemia, and needed blood tests every two weeks. We’d get out of the car and she’d RACE to the door, panting to get in. (When you have 90 pounds of I-want-in and a door that opens outward, it can be tricky.) She’d sail past the receptionist and other dogs, plop down in the treatment area, get her blood drawn and come back to me with a treat in her mouth.
We used to have a dog that loved going to the vet. All you had to do was say the word and she grab her leash and sit in front of the door. This was a blessing, as the poor puppy had something similar to sickle-cell anemia, and needed blood tests every two weeks. We’d get out of the car and she’d RACE to the door, panting to get in. (When you have 90 pounds of I-want-in and a door that opens outward, it can be tricky.) She’d sail past the receptionist and other dogs, plop down in the treatment area, get her blood drawn and come back to me with a treat in her mouth.
We lost her when she was only five years old.