One More Reason to Change Vets
I should probably stop here...six words, you know...but if you want the back story, here it is:
A couple of weeks ago, I had Mr. Gibbs “fixed.” I had already decided I didn’t care much for the unhelpful, often unfriendly staff, but I did like the veterinarian. They told me to bring him in before 7 a.m. and pick him up after 3:30 p.m., which jived fairly well with my work schedule.
The vet called me around 10 a.m. and told me he was out of surgery and resting comfortably. Less than an hour later, he called back and said Gibbs was ready to go, I could pick him up anytime. I kinda laughed and said, “He doesn’t like that cage, does he?” He said, “Noooo, he sure doesn’t!” I told him I hadn’t scheduled to be off the afternoon, and I couldn’t just take him home with no one to watch him. He said it would be fine to leave him there as scheduled.
When I went to get him around 4, the lady at the front desk couldn’t tell me whether or not he’d had anything to eat or drink, or if he’d been out to do his business. The conversation went something like this:
Me: Has he been out?
Her: We thought you’d do that when you got here.
Me: He’s been locked up all day. You all haven’t walked him?
Her: :::Blank stare:::
Me: Has he had anything to eat or drink?
Her: :::Started a long, memorized spiel about him just waking up from anesthesia and it being very important to start him very slowly on eating and drinking:::
Me: The doctor called me before 11 a.m. and said he was awake, alert, and ready to go. It’s after 4 now. I’d hate to think he’s been here all that time with nothing to eat or drink.
Her: I wouldn’t like that either.
Me: Well, has he had anything to eat or drink?
Her: :::Speaking into walkie talkie::: “Get Gibbs ready to go.” (She then went to get him and brought him to me.)
Me: Can you find out if he’s already had anything to eat or drink? Can he have a snack on the way home?
Her: “I’m sure he can have a snack.” :::Shoved some papers into my hand::: “Read those directions carefully.” Turning to another lady in the lobby, “Mrs. Johnson, are you ready to pick up Fido?”
At which point, Mr. Gibbs took a whiz on her floor. As I was leaving, I said over my shoulder, “He peed over there.” I probably didn’t keep the glee out of my voice.