The Daily Dilemma: If a veterinarian is great with animals, but lousy with people, do they get a thumbs up or a thumbs down?

Something happened today that has bugged me all day.  I'd like some opinions....

My dog, who is typically in excellent health, needed to visit a vet today.  She has been having an allergic reaction to something (still not sure what) and I needed a vet to help care for her.

I went to a vet very near my home whom we have used on occasion - but who is not a vet we see "regularly" because, frankly, we do most routine "well pet" care ourselves.  I don't see the need to pay a vet to give vaccinations that can be done at home.

Today I needed a vet.  I called the one who is the closest to our home, whom we have dealt with in the past with favorable outcomes.  I loaded the dog in the car and realized I didn't have my wallet.  I looked in the usual places, and a few unusual places but was unable to find it.  Of course I was concerned, but figured I could worry about the wallet later.  I grabbed a checkbook instead and we set off.  When Ellie and I arrived at the Caring Hearts Animal Hospital, I was told that they would not take my check without an ID card.  The polite suggestion was made that I return after I found my wallet.

Fairly certain they could look up my past records to see that I had always paid my bills, I requested that they make an exception.  The office manager,  who looked to be around 12 years of age, said that they would be happy to see me as soon as I located the wallet, or if I could return with cash.

I smiled, thanked them, and said we would go to our other vet, and we left.  While putting Ellie into the back seat, my wallet fell from between the seats, where it had been "hiding".

There we were, still at the vet and with the missing wallet in hand.  Ellie still needed medical attention, but I felt reasonably mistreated...but Ellie still needed medical attention...what to do?  I decided to go back in and complete the visit.

Ellie was treated with kindness and affection, but I was not.

The vet condescendingly asked me what I was going to do with an unsprayed dog *when* (not if) she got uterine cancer, and needed treatment?

A bit taken aback, I explained that my last 3 dobie/rottie mix dogs who were spayed became incontinent requiring medication to prevent the leakage of pee after they were spayed.  I explained that in wanting to avoid this outcome, we decided to deal with an "unaltered dog" rather than "pee leakage".

The vet offhandedly told me that she would certainly die of uterine cancer unless she was spayed, and he told me that when her cycles became irregular, not to wait too long because by that time it is usually too late to save them anyway.

I have lost two dobie/rottie mix dogs to cancer (gum cancer, and bone cancer) and we lost one to Valley Fever.  What I didn't tell the vet was that cancer seems a likely cause of death when a dog has been perfectly cared for - with or without their uterus.

He was condescending and rude to me but Ellie loved him.  His treatment of her was swift, warmly delivered, and effective.

I'm torn.

Would I recommend him to a friend with a sick pet?

No... wait... well... yes... ?

Once the wallet issue was resolved, the 12 year old office manager was polite and friendly, but they *did* turn us away because I didn't have my picture ID - extreme dog hives and all.

The office was clean, and professional.

The doctor seems knowledgeable.  He's as *ass*...but he's an ass who seems to know what he is doing.

So, for spur of the moment - needed medical attention?  Sure.  Caring Hearts Animal Hospital in Gilbert is a decent place where your animal will be well cared for with affection and respect.

The question would have to be asked, "Who's "feelers" are most important?".  In my case, my dog's hives were more important that my need to be treated well.

You see, I can write this review and share my opinion with you all to make up for the fact that they treated me with less respect than I felt I should have been given, however, my dog might not have gotten such swift treatment if I'd had to make her an appointment with one of our other vets who are not as convenient, but whom we turn to for more complex medical care.

So, the question remains...under these circumstances, does this vet deserve a thumbs up or a thumbs down?  I'm still not sure....

Thoughts from the peanut gallery? 

Hired hit, boys, eggs, lies, and...Hannah - The truth about the recurrent vandalism at the Cook home.

For over a year, my house has been the victim of hoodlum attacks from kids who think it's funny to throw eggs at our garage door and my car.

Cleaning eggs off of concrete is gross. The smell of raw egg that has splattered into our garage and baked is gross. Egg on a black car can leave 'car scars'. We've been lucky in that we have always been able to clean it up before any permanent damage was done...until now.

A month ago I caught the boys in the act, but they went to a neighbor's house where she protected them from the police. The next day the restraining orders and lies began to fly. There was a hearing, and more lies, but in the end-other than a tainted view of our local court system-no lasting harm was done. Well, unless you count the verbal abuse from the judge - causing my feelings to sting a bit. A complete stranger decided I have a filthy foul mouth and verbally assaulted a child. It still bothers me. (such tender "feelers" I have...) http://ow.ly/1rp9yW for more on the in court story

Anyway...

Roger celebrated his birthday last Saturday and our house was hit with egg again. Set to confront the neighbor, my daughter became argumentative about how we knew it was them.

One thing led to another, then came my daughter's stunning announcement. She said it was not the neighbors, and she knew this because she has been behind the egging. She had been the instigator inviting her vandal friends over to egg the house. She said she knows who the last set of boys/vandals were because she told the boys to do it. Why would our spoiled over- privileged child do such a thing? She smiled an evil smile and said it was because she knew it made her dad and I mad.

There was probably an hour of stunned silence while the events sunk in. Sisters were consulted (mine and Roger's) and a grim new plan was put in motion.

That day my daughter began her journey on the "My friends are more important than my family" lesson.

It happened like this: first there was the statement "My friends are more important than you!", followed by..."hey...what do you mean you aren't going to pay for my gymnastics anymore?!?" (three hundred a month plus time in the car to and from practice?!? I think NOT!)

Followed promptly by..."HEY...what do you mean you are taking back the iPod touch 4 that you bought me?!?" It was a birthday gift purchased right after the court hearing with the evil judge- where she had withheld the names of the boys we were trying to hold accountable (along with the parent who provided cover for the boys, and the eggs).

By the time the day was done, she lost her camera, two iPods, gymnastics, her brand new custom skateboard, cable tv in her room, her bedroom door, and the respect and trust of both of her parents.

She also lost about 2 thousand dollars from her savings account. The money will pay for a security system to surround our home. We shall call it "HannahCam".

Poor Hannah (NOT)!!

The whole thing took all the fun out of Halloween this year. I only half heartedly put up spider webs and I didn't even dress up. I LOVE Halloween, but this year I just kept thinking about the treacherous kid I have accidentally raised.

My sister volunteered to help me feel better by taking hannah's former belongings in a 'firesale' of sorts.

(Think craigs list on speed)

I gave sarah my 3rd generation touch iPod, and have "moved in" to the iPod 4 (which is wicked awesome!) but it may take awhile to stop thinking of the iPod as Hannah's-triggering the thought of why it is now mine instead of hers. :(

At school, Hannah **might** be beginning to realize that the sacrifices she made in order to protect her vandal BFFs may not have been worth it.

"Would they give up everything for you?"

That is the question I have asked her several times, and it may be starting to bounce around in her brain. She lost alot- it has been 5days and she still refuses to cough up their names.

Hannah and I have both begun the countdown to 18. Only 682 more days...

How I came to be me

I became a writer way back in the first grade. I remember a classroom with desks that made a maze to the teacher's desk, and I remember that my teacher wore her hair in a very high ponytail.

She introduced me to prompt writing and the one saving grace I would come to know. There was a box of index cards each with one or two sentences from which the student was expected to jump into a fictional story.

Students groaned and complained everytime it was story box time. Not me, though. I loved the story box with a passion. It was a secret passion because even in first grade I knew it was not cool to like what everyone else hated.

I was certainly not a 'cool' kid – and I would certainly become less and less 'cool' as I grew up, but I always my imagination, and I always had writing.

I also developed a love of diagramming sentences. I liked it because even the most complex sentence had structure. I loved thesauruses and dictionaries. I loved using words that not everyone else used. I was not only not 'cool', I was a goober.

Looking back, one would notice an absence of friends in my childhood. I was a year younger than my peers due a November birthday and a December kindergarten deadline. I was barely four when I was bussed off to kindergarten crying hysterically. I was less mature than my peers, not 'cool' with an emerging goober quality.

Hand in hand with uncool gooberness came a extreme case of inattentive ADD. I was nicknamed 'Spacy Tracy' from Kindergarten to twelfth grade.

Living in the same home meant every year the same kids were my classmates. As I got older, the distraction earned me my name on the board frequently. I would be in class, listening to the teacher...until I wasn't.

My mind would wander off at random times and create alternate lives in an alternate universe until I would return to the classroom and the teacher to find that while I was gone, my name magically appeared on the board – again.

Most of the time it meant a recess spent in the classroom which was fine with me. Arizona recesses can be pretty hot! So, fifteen minutes of a cool, quiet classroom where my mind could wander away without fear of punishment?!? Sign me up! It was embarassing to get my name on the board nearly every day, but I could not help it.

That same active imagination helped me through many situations, including my loathing of canned peas. My mother was of the mindset that either you ate what was on your dinner plate – or you sat at the table until 9pm, at which time there would be a spanking. After the spanking, I was sent straight to bed.

During these many nights spent at the dinner table staring down a pile of smelly, soft, gross, snot green, round objects, that I was not going to consume, I would imagine myself away to a land that only existed for me.

A land where dragons protected princesses from the dungeon master who served peas to princesses. Sometimes this land had magic pea eating napkins, or pea consuming cats, dogs, birds, goats, trained army ants whose job was pea removal, or whatever else popped into my mind.

Because I was such a daydreamer I was also grounded quite a bit due to lackluster report cards. I knew that every nine weeks, I would be grounded for four weeks.

I knew there would be a spanking, there would be the lecture (the same lecture I would hear every nine weeks for 12 years), there would be disappointment, and there would be peas for dinner.

With only a few friends, and a whole lot of time spent grounded, I became a reader. When I obtained my first library card, I discovered worlds to add onto my already elaborate imaginary worlds. I learned how to disappear into fictional worlds that were just as good as the ones I created accidentally, and mostly at inappropriate times.

I discovered The Secret Garden, Black Beauty, Charlotte's Web, The Little Princess, and Anne of Green Gables. I grew to love Beverly Cleary, Judy Blume, and Ronald Dahl. Had it not been for these books and these authors my childhood would not have been nearly so exciting.

Today I am a writer for a few online news sites and I keep a blog for my own amusement. I have recently begun to let stories I have written for my children out to visit publishers and editors where they have been suprisingly well received.

My association with Keith Publications began with a random chance encounter. I was looking for an Ipad on craigs list. There just happened to be someone in Gilbert selling an Ipad. 

There was two weeks of negotiation and friendly banter over the price via text messages. I told him I was a “starving writer” and he shot right back that he was a “starving computer salesman”. It is fun for me to find other quick witted people with a sense of humor.

He visited my blog after a few exchanges, and he asked me if I wrote anything else. I told him I had written children's stories for my own children, but was not brave enough to send them off to face harsh critical editors where they were sure to be chewed to pieces and rejected. He encouraged me to submit them to a local publishing company he was associated with, and THAT is how I have come to Keith Publications where my “first born” story is due in October.

I honestly never expected my imagination to get me anywhere except into trouble, so any success is a suprise to me.

My first born story was written entirely while I was pulling weeds in my front yard.

Typically, this is ONE activity where I can be alone. Both of my children see this as an activity they do not want to be recruited into, so they steer clear when they see my garden gloves come out. However, on this one day my daughter was sent out by her father.

When her father sends her out to me, it tells me he is about to lose his mind, and cannot listen one more nanosecond. She came out and plopped down in the yard (squishing the alien grass rather than pulling it), and proceeded to let loose with a solid 30 minute tirade of “poor me”.

That is where the land of BooHoovia came from. While she was talking, I went to my familiar land of make believe and began to think that if SHE is from the land of BooHoovians, I am from a very different land of HaHavia (ha ha VEE yah). That would make me a natural born HaHavillian (ha ha VEE yan).

I decided her father would most certainly be a BooHoovian as he is rather pessimistic, and is mostly mopey. The punchline of the story (sorry, you'll have to read it to find out what becomes of the BooHoovian and HaHavillian people) came to me later that evening, and made me laugh out loud all by myself.

The household BooHoovians are used to these outbursts of laughter. They clearly lack the HaHavillian sense of humor.

Tisk, tisk, such a pity