This morning I took Buster to the vet to see about treating his anxiety, thunder-phobia and to check that his habit of freaking out and peeing in the house isn't a medical issue.
WHAT A GOOD TIME.
Poor fella had to have a prostrate exam. He is one squirmy little rascal. He was so anxious and wound up after that his hair was basically coming off in poofs. I felt so bad for him. He would barely come up to the vet even when she offered him a treat.
The vet and vet tech couldn't get him to cooperate to collect a urine sample, so I walked up and down the street with him on a leash in one hand and a soup ladel in the the other. Now this is love: I didn't even feel the slightest bit ridiculous when folks drove by. I, too, was unsuccessful, however. Every time he stopped to pee it was just air. Ridiculous.
So, tomorrow morning I am going to try to follow him around the yard with a cup. I shall do this before my shower.