Friday, July 15, 2011

A Trip to the Vet

Sleeping it off; after the vet.
The vet in town is just about three miles from us and has a mailbox painted to look like a Guernsey cow, full pink udder on the bottom and a fraying rope tail at the back.  He has a small stable surrounded by a fenced pasture and there are always a few horses there nosing around the grass and one or two cows, occasionally a donkey or mule.  Once as we drove by a brown calf got loose and we watched for a few minutes while a young cowboy tried in vain to shoo him back inside the fence.  Calves can be fast and slippery when they spy fresh grass just beyond the fence.

Yesterday we took our vagabond puppy (temporarily named Blunder) to see the vet, to get his shots, find out how old he is and maybe what mangling of breeds he might be.  Our little guy did beautifully – took to a leash like it was an expensive necklace to be shown off, wandered around the waiting room investigating corners and under chairs, sat down in front of a woman who came in and waited for her to rub his head.  

When the vet came out I was happy to see he looked the way a good country vet ought to – kind eyes, ginger-colored hair washing out to gray, baseball cap, dark blue coveralls a little tight in the middle and a gruff-but-reassuring Oklahoma drawl.  He handled Blunder with firm but gentle hands, administering the shots so fast that none of us even noticed.  Blunder didn't bark, yip or nip once, despite the manhandling.  The vet told us that Blunder is about 3 months old, can eat as much as he wants (but don’t bother with that expensive canned food), and is probably part dachshund and part bird dog.  He chuckled when he said that last – the long, stout body of a dachshund paired with the short ears and small head of a bird dog struck him as funny, I guess.  It’s true that our pup has a tendency to lift a front paw and more or less point in the general direction of something.  When he commented on the size of the front paws (huge) I asked if that meant he’d grow taller or longer and he replied, “Yes.”  And laughed again.

So now we know a little more.  But what I’d really like to know is what we will never know: what is the dog’s story?  Where did he come from and how on earth did he find us, so far off of the road with a thick stand of trees and underbrush to traverse before coming close to the house?  And could we really possibly call him Blunder?


  1. I am so glad "Blunder" found you! He looks very relaxed. I like the name too!

  2. Good thing Blunder found you. Maybe a name for his ability to find you, or that he points.


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