Ripley went to the vet today for her geriatric exam. Yep, she's 9 years old -- that's like 60-something to you and me. I only hope I have her kind of energy when I'm in my 60s! She had to fast for her bloodwork, and when you have the metabolism of a fruit fly (or a rat terrier), fasting for 12+ hours is truly torturous. She just didn't understand that she would get fed, she just had to wait an extra hour and a half.
We saw a new vet at the office. I wasn't too worried because I trust Ripley's vet to only hire quality people and I know Ripley will love any vet who gives her cookies. But it's a good thing I'm not a nervous pet parent. When they took her in the back to draw blood, I could hear her crying and yelping. When the vet brought her back into the exam room, she said, "She had to show off."
"Was that her I heard crying?" I asked.
"That was her. She yelped when we wiped the alcohol on her neck with a cotton ball. We hadn't even inserted the needle."
Too bad they've already presented the Academy Awards, I think Ripley would be in the running for best actress. She may not have taken home the Oscar but she got lots of treats and ear scratches and belly rubs. And what starlet doesn't love those?