Puppy tales, Part 5

Toby went to the doctor today.

We got a surprise when the doc looked him over.

I went there with some questions, the first of which was: How old is this dog?

The veterinarian opened his mouth, peered at his teeth and said he doesn’t yet have his incisors. “He’s 5 months old,” she said without a hint of doubt.

I let out something akin to a gasp-howl. I couldn’t believe he is that young.

“Are you sure about that?” I asked … stupidly.

“Oh, yes,” said the doctor.

OK, I’ll take her word for it.

“Has he had any shots?” the doctor asked.

“I don’t know the first thing about this dog,” I responded. Well, actually, I had just found out the first thing — which is his age. I explained to her the quick version of how we acquired little Toby only a few days ago: Niece found him in the alley, he followed her home, she returned him to owners the next day, who then said they didn’t want him, she went out again the day after that, found him and his owners, told the owners, “My aunt and uncle want him,” took him back. Now he’s ours.

Toby’s now been vaccinated maybe for the second time. The doctor said it wouldn’t hurt him to get another round of vaccinations.

It’s the age thing that surprised me the most.

He’s a young’n.

Looks as though we’re in this one for the long haul.

 

 

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