This afternoon is Hobkin's annual check-up at the vet's where he gets his shots and yearly physical. Last time, they wouldn't let me hold him when they went to draw blood, and actually took him out of the room for the procedure. They're afraid of him biting me and then me suing them. As if. He'll be less likely to nip anyone if I'm holding him, and I'd much rather he bit me than anyone else. And if he did bite me, of course I'm not going to sue them.
He screamed for me when they took him away. Now Hobkin doesn't typically vocalize. Skunks are very quiet pets. He'll occasionally huff if he's miffed, and I can count on one hand how often he's "roinked" in distress, so I'd never heard him scream before. He sounded like a parrot being tortured--shrill and loud. They brought him back to me, very unhappy and very scared, his whole front dripping wet from the isoprophyl alcohol they'd spritzed him down with in their unsuccessful efforts to jab him. He stopped screaming as soon as they handed him to me, and he consented to letting them both draw blood and poke him for his shot without a peep, although clinging to me with all his fuzzy might. Hobkin's never trusted the vet again, not that he was overwhelmed with him before. I hope they remember this experience at his appointment and let me assist. My poor baby. At least his godmother will be there. If they won't let me hold him, he might be okay if she does.
And . . . it begins. The first boxes of Dragon*Con Film Festival swag have started arriving. Several boxes of flip books for Tim Burton's Corpse Bride are now sitting in our dining room. Sigh. I may as well say good bye to my dining room until September.
Found out via aimeempayne that Ellen Datlow mentioned me in the 2004 Years Best Fantasy and Horror! Alas, it's for my work as managing editor of Tangent and not for any of my fiction, but I'll take what I can get. I shall continue to press my nose against the window of the writers who've gotten an honorable mention or *gasp* even been published in those hallowed tomes, but at least my name has appeared in one of them. It's a start.
And, err, 14 crits this morning. Meep. I solemnly swear I will never again complain about a lack of lovin' in the Critters queue!
New Words: 500
On the Korean folktale.
Club 100 For Writers
Poor Hobkins. I have to hold my fuzzies when i take them to the vet, though Tanis is very objectionable to ANYONE holding him and squirms even when scruffed. Poor baby. Tas hated needles and would chomp at the vet, then try to leap for freedom (she once launched herself about 3 feet straight into my hair and clung for dear life). ::sigh:: I miss my baby.
Hugs to Hobkin - I'm sure things will go well this afternoon. If all else fails, remind them of what happened last time and tell them that you're sure they don't mean or want to stress him out further than he needs to be. I'm sure they'll cooperate.
Well I hope that I'll get a mention from Datlow in that antho this year. That's one of the first places I send a copy of Teddy Bear Cannibal Massacre when I get enough money to order more copies to send out for review (ah the fun of Small Press publicity)
:laughs in delight: Fourteen crits! You see, people do love you!
Oh, poor wittle scawed Hobkinses! Bad, nasty vets to try to take him away from his mommy! I hope the shots and whatnot go better today; I hate vets--er--doctors--myself, so I totally sympathize with Hobkin!
On August 5th, 2005 07:38 pm (UTC), (Anonymous) commented:
Wow! I had no idea skunks could vocalize that much. Stooopid me. I hope the vet listens to you this time. They usually pull the he/she might bite with our dogs as well. Like you, I'd rather the canines bit me than someone else. 'Sides, vets aren't the kind of deep pockets I'd hit if I were suing incline. (More like Wal-Mart, except I don't shop there.)
Yeah, I didn't think you'd be hurting for crits. I often avoid your stories because, a) they require effort on my part; more than the usual "er, nice, but it needs a plot, and punctuation, 'n stuff," and b) because by the time I get around to critting, you've already got 40 critiques.
Yeah, there was fur everywhere from stress shedding yesterday at the vets'. Cloud of skunk fur. I don't understand why poofing one's coat is a good stress reaction.
No fear, I have already started a little "Russ's swag" pile!
On August 6th, 2005 11:10 am (UTC), (Anonymous) commented:
Before that lovely stuff you stick on the back of the cat's neck to worm him was invented, we always got the vet to pill my cat. Every time I tried, I put my back out, so figured it was best to let the professionals do it. Most vets were fine and accepted my cat was a Problem to Pill. But there was this one vet who looked at me as though I was an imbecile and went through the "you just pull on the scruff of the neck and pop the pill in" routine. "Not with this cat," I replied. She tsked at me and demonstrated. And demonstrated a bit more. My cat was soon dangling in mid air, held by the scruff, and of course the mouth was not open. So she put the cat down and attempted to lever his mouth open. She got bitten very badly for her trouble. I was hard pressed not to pat him and praise him. The vet then did the sensible thing and got assistants to help, which is what she should have done in the first place - vets should always listen to what their owners tell them!
The cat's name was Blitzkrieg, BTW, and he was a lovely white cat. I speak of him in the past tense because he died recently at the age of 13, which is respectable for a white cat. And "Blitzkrieg" was a very appropriate name for him, although I always had to spell it to the vet.