It was on like Donkey Kong as soon as I wrestled her into the car. She immediately hopped over the seat into the back seat, surely to attempt an attack from behind. But I was too quick for her. I heaved her back into the front and was on my way. (side note: I thought about walking her to the vet, but then quickly ruled that out. I really should have gone with my gut on that one...)
As soon as we arrived at the animal clinic, I walked Berkley into a lobby FULL of dogs (which makes sense, given it's an animal clinic...). I grimaced and braced myself for her immediate reaction, which was to yank me in all directions to try to play with the other dogs. Well, imagine the look on the poor little old lady's face, clutching her tiny chihuahua in a sweet little pink carrier close to her as if they would protect each other. I smiled graciously at the people around me and said, "It's okay, she's just a baby. She only wants to play." Stone faces. I don't think they were buying it.
So Berk and I sat down, me on a bench and she between my legs. I promptly put her into a full-body wrestling hold worthy of any "professional" wrestler - both legs clamped around her body and both arms around her neck. Everything was well and good until lil' old lady began giving me a serious stank-eye. I was about to tell her to step off and then realized that my shirt had come down, and I was officially showing my pregnant rack to every person in that lobby.
After at least an eternity, Berk and I were called to the back, and as we entered the examination room, she decided to leave a urine sample right there at the door. How thoughtful of her. I was mortified, although the tech seemed unfazed. Then a small-ish nurse came in to stand at the counter and examine Berkley's chart, and Berk promptly jumped up on her back to give her a happy greeting. AHHHH!!! The nurse then asked me to help get Berk's temperature, and she grabbed a giant thermometer and a tube of something... Somehow I knew that wasn't going in her mouth. "Hold her head!" the nurse shouted, and she immediately dived toward Berkley's hind end, trying to pull up Berkley's tail as she clamped it down tightly. Berk was NOT having it. The fun went on for a minute or two, after which the nurse said, "Well, why don't I just take her to the back and get her temperature and a urine sample? When was the last time she urinated?" I ducked my head and said, "Maybe 5 minutes ago. Right about where you're standing..."
10 minutes later they came back in, and the nurse informed me that they had to catheterize Berk to get her sample, to which I replied, "Good. She deserved it." (I thought that until I got the bill and realized that it cost $42 to do it. ARGH.) Turns out my big ol' girl has a urinary tract infection (which is exactly what I thought), but I caught it early (YAY, me), and we now have to give her medicine twice a day in slices of cheese or globs of peanut butter (unless you have a better idea). The vet offered to have the office assistant come back to our exam room to do the paperwork and pay, "Since we have such a... um... 'rambunctious' pup." At that point, I just took what I could get.
Just so no one would forget Berkley, I wrestled her back through the lobby and out the back door (the front is being worked on), where Berk promptly peed on the carpeted floor in the file room. I wanted to tell everyone that it's because she had a bladder infection, that she's a really sweet girl, and she only jumps up because she wants to lick and love them, but as soon as the nurse got on her headset and said, "Cleanup in files. Urine. Carpet." I was out.
And just so you know, the cheese idea works, and Berkley prefers the white cheddar.