Reo had his first “senior” evaluation today at the vet clinic. At eight years old, you’d never know he was now considered in the early years of senior life with the way he still burns tracks into the carpeting in uncontrollable and unpredictable episodes of “zoomies”.
In the coming years, they want to start keeping an eye on his overall health, with special attention to the parts of him that can start to be affected by growing older, like joints. I’ve only ever had one dog before, and he only lived to the age of seven due to complications on account of diabetes. Reo’s officially the oldest dog I’ve ever had, and I hope I have many more wonderful, comedy-filled years with that furr-butt.
Thankfully he’s gotten better at the clinic, and the groomers for that matter, and is much less of a handful according to them. He use to yowl and put on like they were performing a slow ritualistic torture behind the doors, often prompting the vet to apologize and explain. I always tell them not to worry, I’m well aware of the drama queen act he likes to perform.
Today, while he was back there with them I only heard him vocalize once, and it was fairly brief. Too brief to catch it on my phone’s recorder, but it still sounded like a wounded Wookiee. When it was time for him to return, he could hardly get his feet under him, he was scrambling so hard. However, the vet praised him on how well he behaved. Much improved from times past.
Then she explained the cause of his audible protest, and I immediately sympathized with him.
A rectal exam… so much for vet visits going easier.