Mr. Chance Pants had to go get shots this morning. So at 8 am, we put Miss Stella Bean in her cage so she wouldn't eat recyclables, magazines, shoes, insert whatever she felt like eating here, and headed off to the vet.
I felt awful listening to her cry as we shut the garage door, but I knew it was for the best. This trip would be easiest just the three of us.
It's a process when Chance has to go to the vet. We muzzle him because he likes to act tough. Then the husband puts Chance on the exam table, backs him up all the way to the wall and holds him around his rib cage so he can't go anywhere.
Once they're in position it's my turn to step in. My job is to hold the dog man's head, rub my thumb between his eyes to calm him, look him in the eye to keep him focused on me and tell him "NO" whenever he thinks about making a break for it - and hopping off the three-foot exam table.
It's not easy. In fact, it's hard work.
Getting your husband to eat things that are good for him and contain fiber can be hard work, too. But I guess not everything can be as easy as making hummus and putting out a box of crackers next to the hummus so your husband will eat it.
