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As much as Wilford hated to admit it, he was really into the rubber tile the landscapers put in. Even if it didn’t feel like brick to walk on, it actually looked like it. And it was going to make slipping into the pool a lot more difficult, so that was nice. And the guy was right. The dogs did seem to like it. They’d lost the tall grass and weeds to play in, but the bar had lots of grass to go play in. They could deal. Once the landscapers were done, he’d called someone about installing a dog door. He’d been worried about that too. Nobody wants the Southern San Andreas heat getting into the house, but apparently dog doors are all insulated and fancy now. Now the dogs could come and go as they wanted.
And only as they wanted, in Bailey’s case. It had been long enough, and he’d run out of reasons to stall. If he was keeping the dog, she had to go to the vet. And Buster, apparently. He wanted to go and wasn’t taking no for an answer. The Oracle was not big enough for two dogs, but like hell was Wilford going to go buy some big, stupid SUV just to take his dogs to the vet. The back seat was already a lost cause. He was done worrying about it.
Bailey, it seemed, did not like car rides. She probably hadn’t ever been in a car before, and it wasn’t going to become a regular thing if she was going to puke every time he took her somewhere. How did this become his life? What god did he spite to be here? After she puked, she cried the entire ride to the vet, which was thankfully close by. And since Bailey continued to be a pain in the ass about everything, she got to be dragged in on a leash, while Buster happily and obliviously trotted along behind them, stopping occasionally to eat more rocks.
Bailey did not like the vet. She squirmed and cried and tried to get away the entire time, and cried some more at the vaccines, and was just generally an all-around pain in the ass for everyone in the room.
“About how big’s this one going to get?” Wilford asked while some helpless tech tried desperately to draw blood from a dog that wanted nothing to do with anything. Wilford tried to help hold her still, but she was already a lot of dog to deal with. While all this happened, Buster watched from the corner, yipping occasionally to join in on the fun.
“About one-ten; one-twenty,” the tech said, finally getting the blood. She capped everything off and set it down onto the tray.
“Goddamnit,” Wilford muttered. Jim was such an ass.
The tech gave Wilford an almost sympathetic look. “You’re keeping her, at least. Most people get given a dog, and they wind up in shelters in a few months.” She made notes on a clipboard and returned her attention to the dog. “All right, Bailey-girl. One more then and then you’re all done.” She put her hand on Bailey’s side, frowned, repositioned her hand, and frowned harder. “Huh.”
That wasn’t a sound Wilford wanted to hear. “What?” he asked.
“She doesn’t have an inventory,” the tech said.
Wilford was beginning to suspect that she wouldn’t. “Is that bad?” he asked anyway.
The tech shook her head and wrote this down. “No. It happens. If anything, it’s easier on you. Where’d you say she came from?”
Wilford shook his head. “He didn’t say. Other people have said she looks pedigree, but I don’t have any papers.”
“I’d agree. She’s definitely purebreed. It would be nice to know which breeder she came from, in case it’s a genetic thing.”
“I’ll ask him.” Wilford had no intention of doing anything of the sort. The fact that the dog spoke no English, and had no inventory was enough information to tell him the dog did not come from this world. He let her down to go cower and whine with Buster. “Other than that she’s good?”
The tech nodded. “We’ll run the labs and let you know in a few days if anything comes up, but I don’t expect to see anything. She looks healthy from everything I can see. What I didn’t see was a spay mark, so you’ll want to make an appointment for that.”
“A what?” Wilford asked. “You mean a scar?” He looked down at the dog. He didn’t even know how old she was supposed to be, or when you were supposed to get them fixed.
“I didn’t see that either, but they can be hard to spot. A lot of places will leave a little tattoo on their belly to make it easier to tell.”
“Oh.” How grotesque. Wilford kind of hated owning pets sometimes.
He took his paperwork from the tech and headed out to the desk to make his next appointment.
And only as they wanted, in Bailey’s case. It had been long enough, and he’d run out of reasons to stall. If he was keeping the dog, she had to go to the vet. And Buster, apparently. He wanted to go and wasn’t taking no for an answer. The Oracle was not big enough for two dogs, but like hell was Wilford going to go buy some big, stupid SUV just to take his dogs to the vet. The back seat was already a lost cause. He was done worrying about it.
Bailey, it seemed, did not like car rides. She probably hadn’t ever been in a car before, and it wasn’t going to become a regular thing if she was going to puke every time he took her somewhere. How did this become his life? What god did he spite to be here? After she puked, she cried the entire ride to the vet, which was thankfully close by. And since Bailey continued to be a pain in the ass about everything, she got to be dragged in on a leash, while Buster happily and obliviously trotted along behind them, stopping occasionally to eat more rocks.
Bailey did not like the vet. She squirmed and cried and tried to get away the entire time, and cried some more at the vaccines, and was just generally an all-around pain in the ass for everyone in the room.
“About how big’s this one going to get?” Wilford asked while some helpless tech tried desperately to draw blood from a dog that wanted nothing to do with anything. Wilford tried to help hold her still, but she was already a lot of dog to deal with. While all this happened, Buster watched from the corner, yipping occasionally to join in on the fun.
“About one-ten; one-twenty,” the tech said, finally getting the blood. She capped everything off and set it down onto the tray.
“Goddamnit,” Wilford muttered. Jim was such an ass.
The tech gave Wilford an almost sympathetic look. “You’re keeping her, at least. Most people get given a dog, and they wind up in shelters in a few months.” She made notes on a clipboard and returned her attention to the dog. “All right, Bailey-girl. One more then and then you’re all done.” She put her hand on Bailey’s side, frowned, repositioned her hand, and frowned harder. “Huh.”
That wasn’t a sound Wilford wanted to hear. “What?” he asked.
“She doesn’t have an inventory,” the tech said.
Wilford was beginning to suspect that she wouldn’t. “Is that bad?” he asked anyway.
The tech shook her head and wrote this down. “No. It happens. If anything, it’s easier on you. Where’d you say she came from?”
Wilford shook his head. “He didn’t say. Other people have said she looks pedigree, but I don’t have any papers.”
“I’d agree. She’s definitely purebreed. It would be nice to know which breeder she came from, in case it’s a genetic thing.”
“I’ll ask him.” Wilford had no intention of doing anything of the sort. The fact that the dog spoke no English, and had no inventory was enough information to tell him the dog did not come from this world. He let her down to go cower and whine with Buster. “Other than that she’s good?”
The tech nodded. “We’ll run the labs and let you know in a few days if anything comes up, but I don’t expect to see anything. She looks healthy from everything I can see. What I didn’t see was a spay mark, so you’ll want to make an appointment for that.”
“A what?” Wilford asked. “You mean a scar?” He looked down at the dog. He didn’t even know how old she was supposed to be, or when you were supposed to get them fixed.
“I didn’t see that either, but they can be hard to spot. A lot of places will leave a little tattoo on their belly to make it easier to tell.”
“Oh.” How grotesque. Wilford kind of hated owning pets sometimes.
He took his paperwork from the tech and headed out to the desk to make his next appointment.
