Canine karma

Keep calm and carry on. A great mantra to repeat and live by, right? Massively challenging for a big mouth, temper losing control freak like me however. But I continue to struggle to meet this challenge, hoping that the day will come that I will achieve both inner and outer serenity and all who know me will be able to say, wow, she is just so soothing to be around. Okay, okay, I can hear you all saying, hey Lis, maybe don't set your goals too high, right? Baby steps, baby steps. So after blowing my top at my brother and sister in law this weekend, I am out to redeem myself, if only to myself, and challenge myself to keep it all together when things don't quite go my way.

Fantastic opportunity to put myself to the test arrives Tuesday when what should be a straightforward trip to the vet with my golden retriever goes awry. To say my dog is a big baby is a massive understatement. Basically he is a 100 pound cowering whimpering lap dog. He has this amazing super power of being able to shed virtually all of his hair at once, onto me when he starts to have a panic attack. Which he does upon arrival at the vet's office. I speak in soothing tones, comforting him, telling him (and myself) that it's just a quick visit and we'll be on our way home soon. Dr. Natasha (yes, she has a heavy Russian accent for real!) gets things underway, and it's all going quite well, when a tech suddenly enters the room and tells Dr. N. that she is needed right away. Dr. N apologizes and explains that she has to go deal with an "emergency guinea pig situation", but she'll be right back. Hmm. So Xander (that's my dog) and I wait for several minutes, and finally Dr. N. returns, but moments later the tech is back exclaiming that the guinea pig is in distress, and Dr N grabs a teeny tiny stethoscope and rushes off again. This time we wait even longer, and I can feel my old friend big ugly impatient red temper tantrum starting to stir. I mean, come on, someone could at least let us know what's going on, or send us home, or something. But I take a breath, and wave him off, no easy feat as I am working hard to keep Xander's panic attack from turning into a full blown heart attack, oh my god, that's all my vet needs. At some point another tech brings him some water, and offers me a coffee, leading me to believe the vet is not coming back any time soon. But I tell myself - and Xander - that it's fine, we have no where else we have to be right away, and imagine the trauma room scene playing out nearby. Do they have teeny tiny little paddles fired up, is someone yelling "clear!" while a tearful family looks on from behind the team of medics? Pay it forward, I tell myself, be a thoughtful patient person, because I would expect the same priority treatment if my pet was in dire straits. I strove to communicate this to my dog, and felt him start to calm down - easily done as at this point he was actually lying on top of me, as much of himself as he could get into my lap anyway, so I could get a pretty good read on how fast his heart was beating etc.

Anyway, eventually the vet came back, pronounced my dog to be in great health, finished our check up without further disruption and we headed to the desk to pay the bill, feeling really good about how we had both managed to keep it together over the past hour. And then it happened - a true moment of cosmic karma payback, a tangible reward for our most excellent behaviour. As the receptionist handed me the bill, she smiled and told me that as a thank you for our patience they were throwing in a FREE fecal test for Xander. Woohoo! I smiled right back and said "right on!" Can you imagine my excitement?  I could hardly wait to rush out and gather that sample to bring in.  My healthy dog and I headed home proudly with our fecal sample gathering kit glowing like the trophy that it is.

But seriously, while it may not seem like much of a reward for maintaining my cool, I'll take what I can get. Count your blessings and all that.  Because in the end, I never did find out what happened to that guinea pig....