Saturday was Fifty’s least favorite day of the year… shot day at the vet… RUH-ROH!. Oh he hates it! Look at him up there, with his tail tucked between his legs, all nervous like. (He’s also totally unaware that all of that worrying is going to give him frown lines… do they have botox for dogs?)
In fairness, I get why he was so uneasy (besides the shot of course, I’m not a fan either), Fifty hasn’t had the greatest Vet experiences in the past. It’s not that anything bad happened, it’s just that we hadn’t found the right Vet for him… until last week, when fate stepped in.Â
But before fate stepped in, there was the cat lady Vet. She was the first Vet we took Fifty to and not very nice. She didn’t like dogs! (Let me ask you a question… what kind of person becomes a Vet if they don’t like dogs?) It was absolutely nutty, because when Fifty went to her he was a wee bitty thing, and Fifty as a wee bitty thing was simply too cute not to like. I mean really, how could you not love this wee, bitty face?
Obviously there was something wrong with her.Â
Then there was the second vet. He was perfectly fine (much nicer than the cat lady), but he was just kind of blah, and lacking in someway. It was like he didn’t have an aura or something.
So this year when shot time rolled around, and not wanting to take Fifty back to the mean cat lady or the aura-less guy, we were on a search for somebody new. The man who owns the camp that Fifty goes to recommended a place not too far from here. He said the vet there takes care of all of his dogs (he breeds Porcelaines, like Ruby) and he takes walk-ins. Perfect, except we showed up during his extra-long lunch hour. We decided to go back a couple of days later and headed home. And that’s when fate happened.Â
As we were driving, we passed another Vet’s office (in France, Vet’s have a white and blue cross hanging over their door) and pulled over to take a look. The office was closed but the Vet’s name on the door looked familiar. Very familiar. We looked in Fifty’s carnet de santé, and there on Fifty’s papers from his first examination at the S.P.A., was that very same Vet’s name. Fate. We booked an appointment right away. Â
When we arrived, the Vet looked at Fifty and introduced herself. Then she looked at his carnet de santé, looked back at him and gasped, “Oui! Nonos!” (Nonos was Fifty’s name before we adopted him). She remembered him!Â
She told us how Fifty and his two sisters were brought to the S.P.A. in the cardboard box that they had been found inside the trash dumpster in (that breaks my heart), and (get ready… this is a big and), one of his sisters is a patient of hers! I am bursting with excitement about this! Fifty has a sister, and she’s OK, and healthy, and has a loving family. And apparently, she’s scared of everything just like Fifty, is a big licker like him, and is just about the same size but, she’s more Staffordshire-like so she could probably beat-up her brother.
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So in summary; 1)Â We finally found the right Vet for Fifty (she’s super sweet!). 2) Fifty has a sister not too far from here who could probably take him in a wrestling match, and 3) I have a play date to arrange.
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It's Me, Sara Louise 
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