Yesterday I took Ollie to the vet for his canine influenza booster. Dogs here in the US should never catch a thing because it seems there is a shot or pill for every possible malady. He was also getting a bath because the husband hasn't attached the hand sprayer to the tub spigot yet. And so the first time I bathed him here in Texas, it was a plastic cup affair that took forever, with me bent over the bath tub trying to get the beast's dense coat completely soap free.
I attended a little school get together early in the afternoon at a team member's house to meet some of the ladies at my new campus and didn't make it back into town to fetch Ollie until a bit after 4:00. When they brought him out to me in the reception area, he was dancing a jig and I knew why. He has this bad habit of not going potty in unfamiliar places. I figured his bladder was about to burst.
As soon as he cleared the vet clinic doors and walked onto the grassy area, he squatted to tinkle. And tinkle. And tinkle some more. And with such a strong stream that he hosed down his front paw with doggie pee-pee. Great... now his foot reeks of urine. Since I didn't have a towel in the car and refused to stand around until his tinkle soaked foot dried, I put him in the front passenger seat floor board. By the time I got around to the driver's door, he had hopped up onto the seat, walked across the console and had his pee paw on the driver door to look out at me through the glass.
Lovely - wet little piddle tracks all over my less than a month old leather seats in the first luxury vehicle I've ever owned, the one I'm afraid of getting dirty or dinged. One of the girls recently got a floor mat dirty and I just about lost it. So long new car smell. Once we were home, I busted out the premoistened bleach towelettes and wiped down the areas where he tracked pee in the car. From now on, I may have to borrow the husband's truck to get Mr. Shy Bladder home from the vet.