The Eye Doctor

I visited an eye specialist earlier this week, not for me. I'm already fully aware that I can't see.

No, it was for our recently acquired English Setter, Clove.

She's also known as Clover, Clovey-wovey, Chum, Cloverfield (if she's being bad...) or Love Bug.  

I have had a few opportunities to go the vet with previous pets, but those were mostly country doctors who saw cattle half the time, not high end eye specialists who's clientele is comprised mainly of independently wealthy women with 20 year old Shnauzer's or Yorkie's named Buffy or Her Majesty. 

This was new territory for me. Clove has a tendency to run into objects that have been in the same spot since the day she arrived at my house, that and a few other things (she's totally content to sit and stare at white walls for extended periods of time...she's a special puppy, bless her) got me thinking she might have a vision issue so I made an appointment. 

Off to the eye specialist we go, her collar disappeared not long before her appointment so I wasn't able to leash her and her crate is a little cumbersome which landed her a front row seat in my lap. In we go, no leash, no crate, looking like the Clampetts and Girlfriend decides it's time to chow down on her butt. 

I kid you not. My dog has never chewed on her derriere with as much determination and gusto. She decided to wait until we're surrounded my upper crust lapdogs to pull that trick. So here we are, I'm trying to ignore the fact that Clove is treating her rump like it's the greatest thing since bacon when she decides she's had enough and falls asleep. 

This is the part of the story where Clove debuts her lack of bladder control. She had the opportunity to go potty before the trip inside and opted out, apparently she was saving something for me. She was totally dead to the world, and I was thinking about what a sweet puppy she was and thanking the Lord that she had given up on chewing her own tail off when I notice a spot about the size of my hand on my pants. 

Under her. 

Yes.

She peed on me.

In her sleep.

In the doctor's office with all the classy potty trained animals. 

Then I spent the rest of the visit proclaiming far and wide that obviously my puppy had a drooling issue, precious strumpet, and that absolutely was not Clover pee on my pant leg. 

Happy Wednesday, 

Rae 

p.s. Clover has perfectly functioning eyes, thank goodness. Apparently she's just still working on developing the semi-important connection between her eyeballs and her brain. The doctor said not to worry and to give her a little time to develop, in the mean time we'll work on bladder control...er uh, that drooling problem.