Today, after a half hour game of fetch the tennisball in the river at Frank’s Bridge, followed by a run on the field to dry off, Whitevanwoman took me to see the vet for my jabs.
I do enjoy a trip to the vets – there are loads of exciting smells there and a lovely display of dog food in the waiting room (but how mean is it to put shelves full of dog food at dog level and then expect dogs not to tuck in?!) and I always get lots of fuss and attention and usually a dog treat. And often there are other dogs and cats there too for me to say hello too, although I must admit that most cats don’t seem to like me for some strange reason.
I had to sit on the scales to be weighed and Whitevanwoman tutted when the vet said 28.4 kilogrammes, as last time I was weighed I was only 24kg. But the nice vet said that I was ok, and that up to 30kg is fine for a dog like me. I’m hoping that means that I can eat more, so that I can get up to 30kg as soon as possible, but somehow I don’t think so, as Whitevanwoman said that she will keep a careful eye on what I eat.
Then I got to give the vet a cuddle whilst she checked my heart (no probs there – it was still beating) and tried to look in my mouth (I firmly kept my jaw clamped tightly shut so she just managed a quick glimpse of my teeth). She cunningly stuck her needle in the scruff of my neck whilst I was busy trying to lick her face but it was no worse than when Miss Tibby digs her claws into my nose so I didn’t mind. Plus I knew that there were some dog treats at reception so it was worth being on my best behaviour 
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