Shooting Lola

 

               Shooting Lola

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I’ve never bought into the theory that when children, or dogs, turn out difficult or neurotic or “bad”, whatever that means, it is the fault of the mother. Mom plays her part and I can make a long list of other factors, but that is for another story.

The person who used to give my sweet dog Lola her vaccinations is no longer available to do the job. With one thing and another in the chaos of the last couple years, Lola has gone without her normal rabies and whatever-the-other one is, although I think I heard it called a 3-in1 shot, which covers a lot of ground.

I am not medically inclined. Personally, mention a needle of the type attached to a syringe and I visibly blanch, this, despite the fact I use sewing needles almost daily, for fun.

I began worrying the problem of Lola being overdue for her shots a few months ago. Leo went to a vet in Ahualulco to buy the appropriate medicines, which I kept refrigerated, according to instructions. When Jim showed up in January, I said, “Ah ha! In one of his past lives, Jim was a nurse. He knows how to give shots.”

Jim agreed to take on the task and gave Lola her rabies vaccination a few weeks ago. The vet who sold the medicine said to give Lola the rabies vaccine first, to be followed a month later by the “other”.

Did I mention my own completely baseless and totally irrational fear of needles? I cannot bear to see myself be injected. My reaction is even worse if you are getting a shot. My stomach rebels and I squinch my eyes tightly shut while holding my throat closed.

Poor Lola. She pretty much always has a similar reaction. Much as we try to hide it, with loves and treats and distractions, she always manages to see the needle coming and fights it and us, us being two holders and one shooter.

It is time for the second shot and now Jim is unavailable. So, off to the vet’s we go. Leo hooked Lola’s leash onto her collar and jumped her into his car. I did not tell her where we were going.

When we got to the vet’s, Lola jumped out with Leo. As I opened my door, Leo urged me to stay in the car. I did. Happily.

Leo poked his head in the window to tell me that this vet had an array of leather muzzles in different sizes. Leo informed me that if I bought her a muzzle, he would give Lola shots in the future. He’d given injections to cows, horses, pigs and sheep.  He simply wanted Lola muzzled. Why had he not told me this years ago?   

 From my seat in the car, I could see through the large open doorway and watched Leo place four different sizes of muzzles over her mouth until he found the one that fit best. Lola stood there looking bored. Had it been me holding the muzzle, she would not have let me near her mouth.

A few minutes later, Leo led Lola out of the vets. She jumped back into the car, looking none the worse for wear.

Filled with my own anxious concern, I asked, “How did it go? Did she fight? Was it hard?”

“No. Lola was fine. She just stood there.”

“You mean she didn’t try to back away?”

“No. Nothing.” 

I know that Lola is sensitive to my moods. At times she seems to read my thoughts.

Does this mean that all the frustrations, fights, and troubles giving her shots in the past were because of me? It was all my fault? Always blame the Mom? Like Scarlet, I will think about that later.

I gave Lola the stink eye and whispered, “Traitor.” She just wagged her fluffy tail and grinned.

Sondra Ashton

HWC: Looking out my back door

In April

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