When It’s Time for the Vet 😬
There’s one word in our house that must never be spoken out loud: “vet.” Not even whispered. If my Golden Retriever, Max, hears it, all bets are off. You’d think I just announced we were going to the end of the world.
Max is the sweetest dog 99% of the time. Friendly, loyal, big tail wags, and a lover of belly rubs. But the moment he realizes a trip to the vet is coming? He turns into a full-blown drama king.
It always starts the same way: I casually grab the leash, trying to act like we’re going for a fun walk. Max gets suspicious immediately. He watches me with narrowed eyes, as if calculating my every move. Then he smells it—the paperwork. The receipt from the last visit, the scent of the little treat bag the vet gave me to “make it a positive experience.” That’s when he bolts.
I’ve found Max under beds, behind the couch, in the laundry basket, and once, somehow, in the bathtub with the curtain drawn. All because I dared to schedule a routine check-up.
When I finally catch him, he does the classic “dead weight” move. Just flops to the ground like his bones suddenly evaporated. I have to lift all 70 pounds of him into the car like a wiggly sack of potatoes. The whole drive to the clinic, he pants dramatically in the backseat and glares at me through the rearview mirror like I’ve personally betrayed him.
Once we arrive, it gets even better.
Max becomes a statue in the lobby. No matter how many treats I offer or how enthusiastically I say, “It’s okay, buddy!” he refuses to move. Other dogs are prancing in and out with tails wagging, but Max? He’s planted. Like a tree. A very stubborn, anxious tree.
Then we get called into the exam room—and the shaking starts. Max presses himself into the corner like he’s in time-out. The vet enters, and Max gives them the saddest, most heart-melting eyes you’ve ever seen. It’s both hilarious and heartbreaking.
But here’s the twist: once the vet pulls out the peanut butter spoon or gives him a treat, Max immediately forgets the trauma. He perks up like, “Oh hey! This place has snacks?!” and acts like the biggest baby in the best way—giving kisses, wagging like crazy, and flopping over for belly rubs.
And of course, the second we leave the office, Max sprints to the car like his life depends on it, jumps in, and looks at me like, “Let’s never talk about this again.”
Honestly, going to the vet with Max is exhausting, ridiculous, and completely over-the-top—but also kind of hilarious. And even though it’s a whole production every single time, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Well… maybe for a vet who makes house calls. 😬
