Friends, it’s a Summer Miracle.
King Louie had to go to his royal physician’s today for the yearly checkup. He has never, in the 11 years we’ve been visiting this vet (nor the 2+ years we visited the one in our previous side of the province), eaten a treat from the tech, the receptionist, the vet, me… no one. No treats. Not stinky treats, not crunchy treats. no treats.
So today, when the new-to-Louie vet asked me if he could have a treat, I said that he usually takes it from you, but then drops it on the floor because he’s too amped up to eat treats now. Well, doesn’t His Royal Weasellyness make me a liar. He ate the treats on the floor, the treats from her hand, treats from the techs-who-came -in-to-take-his-blood’s hand. ALL THE TREATS. There was a moment when he got jabbed in the Royal Hindquarters with two needles when he labelled me *and* the vet treasonous traitors, and then he wouldn’t take the treats for 7 whole seconds before he started Hoovering them up again. I was gobsmacked, truly. That dog is full of surprises.
King Louie is presently 13 1/2, which is Old As Methuselah in dog years. I’m reminded of the time when my Uncle Jack (Ghod, rest his soul) was.. 94 or 95. We took him out for his birthday dinner at a fancypants restaurant. The Chef (Christine) came out to see him, and he said the wanted steak. Except steak wasn’t on the menu. But Christine winked at him and said “When you’re 95, you can have whatever you want for dinner”. And so he had steak for dinner. Apparently, Louie has crossed that threshold into having treats whenever he damn well pleases, because life’s too short to leave liver treats on the floor.
There’s probably a lesson there for all of us. This week, friends, figure out what your life’s liver treats are, and gobble them with abandon.
So here’s to King Louie, benevolent regent of the kingdom of Dogswald, defender of the realm, and connoisseur of the finest treats in Preston!