I get the impression Baxter didn't quite appreciate how wonderfully his slow rainy day was going until it was rudely interrupted by a visit from his vet late this afternoon. He played. He ate. He kept his tail at half mast, indicating his slight displeasure from being ousted from our bed the night before and wishing that we would pay more attention to his pleas for rawhide. He should have known that something like this would happen the moment the stinkies came back, but he didn't, and the tail said it all.
His tail spoke more loudly and even drowned out his barking when he saw the vet's white van pull into our driveway. He held it high with tiny hackle ridge raised, making it quiver as he barked, telling the van to come again some other day. His resolve to scare away the van melted into an immediate desire to protect what he realized would be the focus of this visit, and as we approached the van, his tail took an immediate downswing. With his tail tucked tightly between his legs, and all four legs stubbornly planted so that it looked like we were dragging Baxter like a sled across our concrete driveway, Baxter made sure we knew that he was on to us. Nobody would be messing with his rear today.
But when you're seventeen pounds and cute no matter how high your hackles are, it's a battle you know you're going to lose. Just as quickly as Baxter came to appreciate the boring first half of his day, he was equally quick in accepting his new fate once he was brought inside the van. One expresssion, one diet additive recommendation to beef up his poop, and one prescription later, Baxter emerged from the van as happy as ever, though thankfully much emptier. Here's hoping his bottom and his new diet will cooperate!