Exploding Butt Syndrome

Friday when Marty and Lyle came home from work I was not feeling good again.  When we went out there was more of the grossness that had been happening earlier in the week, so even though I told her I was FINE, Marty called the vet and we had to go there before we could go to the farm.

I went right in and jumped on the scale and then went right to the door, JUST LIKE WE PRACTICED.  But no, Marty made me sit down by the chairs.  That's when I knew this was going to be a bad visit.  I started trying to escape, but Marty and Lyle were both there and they wouldn't let me.  They tried to get me to eat treats, but I didn't want any.

I HATE being at the vet.  Dr. Richards doesn't even work there anymore (Marty told me that she started her own practice a little farther away, but I like to think she finally realized that torturing puppies was bad karma), so we saw Dr. Boyd.  She checked my ears and my eyes and another VERY INAPPROPRIATE place and now I have to get eye drops and pills and powder on my chicken.  Marty says I need to get a job, but I say if she would just stop taking me to the vet it would be fine.