(no subject)
I love dogs. I really do. I like small dogs, medium dogs and big dogs, the size of a plush toy or a calf, I like dogs. I don't like some owners though.
I had to take Onni, my white rat, to the vet. I suspected he had respiratory trouble, so just after lunchtime I have an appointment. The vet was closed because I arrived around 12:50 am and they wouldn't open until 13:00, which I found understandable in a way, but still. Anyway, I am one of the first people to sit down in the waiting room.
A smartly dressed man with a lovely Airedale terrier is for a few minutes the only other person in the room. The terrier wails at the smell of rat-in-a-basket, but Onni was not to be for dinner. His owner sat reasonably far away from me, there were two benches standing at a 90 degree angle from each other and his dog could not touch me or my basket. The animal was kept close to the owner on a leash.
Then another man walks in. He wears scruffy clothes, shoes with worn noses, his hair an unkempt curly jungle, and his blue knitted cap kept on his head at all times. He brings in a huge dog, I have no idea what breed, maybe a staffordshire terrier. It's a large black male, intact. He sits down next to me, the dog already excited by the sight of the other dog in the room and the scent of prey from my basket. The dog lunges at me, across my lap with his humonguous head to sniff the basket, and it takes the man a few seconds to realise that maybe I am not charmed by the attention of his precious companion.
He pulls the dog back with a lot of trouble and I shift uncomfortably in my seat. The man is obviously very pround of his dog and him and the man with the Airedale have a conversation about dogs. It turns out the big black dog is a year and 7 months old, and the man tells everyone who will listen that he's disappointed the animal is so skinny. The dog isn't skinny. The dog is slender, lean. I guess what he was trying to say was that he was sorry the dog isn't more of a muscular brute.
When the Airedale terrier gets called to the table I quickly make my way to the other bench with my slightly confused rat. My hopes that it will be a bit quieter now is in vain, the next dog walks right in leading a lady by the leash. I don't know its breed, it's not extremely large, but it turns out to be a male just under 2 years old. The talk about dogs starts all over again. When the lady remarks that probably people go out of their way when they see the big dog coming the owner contently affirms that. He is proud of the fact that his enormous dog is intimidating.
When I remark that it's usually the small dogs that are ferocious, he agrees. His dog wouldn't harm a fly. I tell him a story on how a dachshund heard about won fights with big dogs by standing under their bellies, out of their reach, and biting their paws. The man can't help but sound gleeful when he says that if any dog would do that with his champion, the dog would grab their necks and kill them dead. It's like those arguments girls in my class used to have when we were about ten years old: "I am going to bring my dog and he'll defend me!" "My dog will eat your dog!" "I'll bring my other dog as well!" "My dog can eat both your dogs!" ad nauseam. The two dog owners diiscuss food. The lady remarks her dog eats around 600 grams of food per day, the man responds with a larger number and says he has no idea where it all goes, the dog is so skinny. I tell them my pet doesn't even weigh 600 grams, seeing how it's a rat. The man haughtily remarks he doesn't like rats.
The man keeps bragging about his dog who in the mean time tries to play with the much smaller but equally young dog that accompanied the lady. He has trouble keeping the energetic animal in check. The lady is asked to go into the vet's room and the black dog squeals some more at my basket, safely out of reach. The man doesn't say a word to me anymore. I'm glad.
The vet takes his time to treat Onni, giving me a lot of information and prescribing Otrivin for his nose. He says he doesn't think Onni has a bad infection, but to be sure I now have to treat him with nasal drops four times a day.
At a local shop I get some stuff, an elderly lady peeking in my basket after speculating it was a guinnea pig and going "yuck, a rat" after she sees Onni. The lady behind the counter though is extremely kind: "I like rats, I am not much of a dog person."
I reply with: "I like dogs, I just don't care for some of their owners."
I had to take Onni, my white rat, to the vet. I suspected he had respiratory trouble, so just after lunchtime I have an appointment. The vet was closed because I arrived around 12:50 am and they wouldn't open until 13:00, which I found understandable in a way, but still. Anyway, I am one of the first people to sit down in the waiting room.
A smartly dressed man with a lovely Airedale terrier is for a few minutes the only other person in the room. The terrier wails at the smell of rat-in-a-basket, but Onni was not to be for dinner. His owner sat reasonably far away from me, there were two benches standing at a 90 degree angle from each other and his dog could not touch me or my basket. The animal was kept close to the owner on a leash.
Then another man walks in. He wears scruffy clothes, shoes with worn noses, his hair an unkempt curly jungle, and his blue knitted cap kept on his head at all times. He brings in a huge dog, I have no idea what breed, maybe a staffordshire terrier. It's a large black male, intact. He sits down next to me, the dog already excited by the sight of the other dog in the room and the scent of prey from my basket. The dog lunges at me, across my lap with his humonguous head to sniff the basket, and it takes the man a few seconds to realise that maybe I am not charmed by the attention of his precious companion.
He pulls the dog back with a lot of trouble and I shift uncomfortably in my seat. The man is obviously very pround of his dog and him and the man with the Airedale have a conversation about dogs. It turns out the big black dog is a year and 7 months old, and the man tells everyone who will listen that he's disappointed the animal is so skinny. The dog isn't skinny. The dog is slender, lean. I guess what he was trying to say was that he was sorry the dog isn't more of a muscular brute.
When the Airedale terrier gets called to the table I quickly make my way to the other bench with my slightly confused rat. My hopes that it will be a bit quieter now is in vain, the next dog walks right in leading a lady by the leash. I don't know its breed, it's not extremely large, but it turns out to be a male just under 2 years old. The talk about dogs starts all over again. When the lady remarks that probably people go out of their way when they see the big dog coming the owner contently affirms that. He is proud of the fact that his enormous dog is intimidating.
When I remark that it's usually the small dogs that are ferocious, he agrees. His dog wouldn't harm a fly. I tell him a story on how a dachshund heard about won fights with big dogs by standing under their bellies, out of their reach, and biting their paws. The man can't help but sound gleeful when he says that if any dog would do that with his champion, the dog would grab their necks and kill them dead. It's like those arguments girls in my class used to have when we were about ten years old: "I am going to bring my dog and he'll defend me!" "My dog will eat your dog!" "I'll bring my other dog as well!" "My dog can eat both your dogs!" ad nauseam. The two dog owners diiscuss food. The lady remarks her dog eats around 600 grams of food per day, the man responds with a larger number and says he has no idea where it all goes, the dog is so skinny. I tell them my pet doesn't even weigh 600 grams, seeing how it's a rat. The man haughtily remarks he doesn't like rats.
The man keeps bragging about his dog who in the mean time tries to play with the much smaller but equally young dog that accompanied the lady. He has trouble keeping the energetic animal in check. The lady is asked to go into the vet's room and the black dog squeals some more at my basket, safely out of reach. The man doesn't say a word to me anymore. I'm glad.
The vet takes his time to treat Onni, giving me a lot of information and prescribing Otrivin for his nose. He says he doesn't think Onni has a bad infection, but to be sure I now have to treat him with nasal drops four times a day.
At a local shop I get some stuff, an elderly lady peeking in my basket after speculating it was a guinnea pig and going "yuck, a rat" after she sees Onni. The lady behind the counter though is extremely kind: "I like rats, I am not much of a dog person."
I reply with: "I like dogs, I just don't care for some of their owners."