We went to the vet this morning…  my body still hurts.

We left the house intact. The vet pored over every inch of both Maybe and Brick for their semiannual wellness check. Things were going well, we talked about Maybe – if not more mobile, definitely happier now that she’s back on carprofen. We talked about Brick’s rumbly belly, exploding butt (both “normal” for him) and I got a handout on cognitive decline. I’m still unsure if he’s “slipping,” as we respectfully say about the elderly, or if he’s just sick of my shit… both and either are reasonable expectations.

Then I did it. He’s been refusing to use his scratch board, we’re in cold/dark season so he’s not getting as much outdoor activity, if I do this new hippie consent stuff, I’m lucky to trim one nail a year so really, I had to… 

I requested a nail trim.

It took four grown adults (well, three adults and me) to hold Brick and cut his nails. I was especially surprised that the doctor returned, I kinda think he didn’t believe just how difficult Brick can be… right, he doesn’t *enjoy* an exam, but he has always been cooperative… heh, bet the doctor too hit the Advil when they were finally rid of us! 

I imagine it was what a deep-sea rodeo would look like if you were trying to hog tie a bucking octopus because… how does one sixty-pound dog, with a human on each appendage have so much fight – and his strength is absolutely unbelievable!

If he’s worried about me stealing his DNA to clone him, I can say with relative certainty, that ain’t gonna happen!

So, we have the vet at bitey end. One male tech, who had Brick pinned to the floor like he was a perp in the heist of the Louvre with royal jewels hidden in his…   treasure chest. The ‘unpleasant end’ was closest to me – I had a hind foot in each hand, my elbows keeping his butt on my lap like flippers on a pinball machine.

A very cheerful and energetic tech with clippers popping off those tips with glee, raining praise down on Brick with each snip. She made several small cuts on each nail – making sure she didn’t quick him, but the speed and fluidity of three nips on each toe, the bits flying with such speed, it was like a weird hailstorm of keratin.

Every time she moved to the next talon, Brick felt her release his single toe and foolishly tried to make a break for it.  His head in the firm grip of the doctor, his body completely immobilized by what looked like the full weight of the tech, and me, lifting his feet off the ground every time he tried to brace for launch.

That was the left side.

They used some fancy science words that included “lateral,” forgetting there’s a lowly, uneducated mortal in the room. In that millisecond of my processing delay, Brick seized his opportunity.

When they heaved, he hoed. It took my whole body to stop him, and I felt that bolt of lightning through my back, clenching everything to brace for the spasm—while simultaneously taking a double-footed donkey kick to the gut.

I’ve clearly got a catahoula with livestock in his mitochondria because … I’ve only ever seen cows and horses kick like that. How embarrassing would that be if my back locked up and they had to roll me into a kennel until my ‘keeper’ was able to retrieve me.

We finished the second half and I dragged myself off the floor, retrieved my lung from under the exam table, put both leashes in my left hand, since it felt like my right shoulder had been dislocated, thanked them profusely and raced home for an ice pack.

Of course, as soon as I settled my broken and battered body on the couch, my sweet little boy snuggled in next to me for a nap…  because nail trims don’t hurt… him!