Well, I mean your “companion animal”, not a hairy boyfriend.
I’m not embarrased when my girlcat howls in the vets office and I’m in the waiting room. In fact, I’ve said with a weary smile, “That’s my girl.”
But the time I was very embarrased was when I had a Christmas Eve gig and I had been practicing the original part that was provided by the church. I left it on the floor and guess what? My boycat promptly took a whiz on it. I admit it’s my fault, knowing that the little guy can’t contain himself when there’s paper on the floor, but that didn’t make it any less embarrassing to tell the minister of music. I should have lied. Anyway, I offered to pay for a new part, which they accepted. Needless to say, I didn’t get hired there again. Oh, and I got to keep the music. Score!
Now, I know there are more than a few drive-by crotch-sniffings going on, so what’s your story?
It’s always embarrasing when ‘my’ dog squats to have a large steaming dump in full view of an office full of people. And then I have to pick it up with a plastic bag.
How about feathered friends? This isn’t as embarrasing as your stories, but still…
I used to have this bird which I loved. We took her to the vet to get her wings clipped, and her toenails trimmed. The vet got soft leather gloves on, and got the motorized toenail trimmer. She used it on my hand to show it was very gentle. And she lovingly, gently grasped my baby.
Well, my little one let out such a series of screeching howls. Screech! Screech! Screeeeeeeeeech! She screamed the whole time, and the vet was being very tender. I was mortified, because I had just finished telling the vet what a well-behaved little bird she was. :rolleyes:
As soon as the vet was done, and set her down, though, my baby ran straight to me. I didn’t have the heart to scold her.
I miss her dreadfully. (We turned her over to a better owner because we didn’t feel we were giving her enough, being at work all day).
I was 17 and my cockatiel Kieran, was acting strangely, beating her lower abdomen against her perches and rocking back and forth constantly. I get books from the library and after reading them my not-so- professional opinion is that perhaps she is egg-bound. I try the suggestions in the books, include holding her vent over a bowl of hot water in the hopes of softening the egg with the steam so that she can pass it, nothing works. Time for a vet trip. Not just any vet, but the special bird vet that has been in practice since he, Noah, filled the Ark.
Imagine my 17 year old mortified, blushing embarrassment when, after the exam reveal no egg, that this old, old man began his diagnoses with…
"There comes a time in a young birds life when she desires male companionship…
So my bird was horny and need to get laid, who knew? Not me, I got a complete facts of life talk very similar to the one I had aready gotten at home, but all in bird talk.
My first cat, Snowball, was deaf (as many white cats are). I was quite young and we took Snowball to get his first shots as a kitten. While we waited, I heard a puppy yelp at the pinprick of its annual shots. I was horrified! I couldn’t bear the thought of hearing my Snowball cry.
So when it was our turn, the vet examined him (told us he was deaf), and got the syringe ready. No way was I gonna watch that. I left the examination room. Looked around the waiting room at all the other pet owners and thought “No, from here I still heard the puppy cry. Don’t wanna hear Snowball cry.” So, I thought, “To hell with it, I’m waiting outside!”
So I went out to the parking lot.
Did you know that deaf cats are also very loud?
From outside in the parking lot I could hear a high-pitched squeal:
EEEEEEEEEEYYYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!
Went back in to see everyone in the waiting room sitting there with big, bug-eyes of fear, as if the vet had just skewered my kitten with a pike. Half of them were blanched, a cold sweat had broken out on their brows, and they looked ready to faint. They clenched their pets protectively as if thinking, “Dear Og, what is that barbarian doing to that little kitten?”
BTW Snowball was just fine. He was always loud like that. Sometimes if he squealed in delight, people thought there was a human baby in the house.
[SCARFACE]Let me introduce you to my furry friend <zzzip!>[/SF]
Simon, our dalmation, is normally pretty good about holding his #2s but could not keep from defiling the lawn last time our church had blessing of the animals but I didn’t get too worked up over it. I was in San Francisco with my brother walking his two dogs when we decided to grab something from a pastry shop in the Castro. Czarina Chernobyl, a shepherd mix with a lobster claw like deformation of one paw, decided to take a big and steamy right in the middle of the sidewalk. Naturally my brother had no bags with him so I had to hold both dogs and guard the poop while he got something to remove it with.
I once had a pair of lovebirds live up to their name while my parents were present. The lovebird couples’ son was watching. My mother asked “Should Junior be watching this?” and I had to inform her that since they were mere animals the incident would not require the direct intervention of Dr. Freud.
My very willful dog tries to, ah, excrete while I’m taking her for a walk (despite the fact that she has a perfectly good backyard to go in all day) and invariably she’ll stop and squat on the lawn of the Baptist church.
My first Golden Retriever was quite … energetic. I took her to obedience school because she definitely needed it. She would leap on people, mostly me. When we graduated she was given the “most improved” award. I was told that when we first started the class I looked like I was flying a Golden Retriever kite.
Damnit, Scott! Go to the bathroom and change out of that damn fur suit! For Christ’s sake, what are those stains on the crotch? Nevermind, I don’t want to know. No, you can’t wear just the fox ears, either! Fuck! I can’t take you anywhere!
My baby, Zyll, has long hair. He’s also not too friendly.
So, because he has long hair, he gets globs of poo stuck in it. We don’t notice them for a while (really until he begins to reek, sometimes) because he HATES to be held. The poo can really build up. I mean this kitty gets dingle-apples.
A girl came to our house with a friend of ours, and this girl loves cats, so, heedless of warnings, she picked Zyll up and tried to love on him. He freaked out, but she held onto him because she didn’t want to drop him on the floor. He managed to squirm his way out of her arms, but pressed up against her as he was, he left this long trail of poo across her shirt.
I used to share a house with my cousin who had a beagle. I took the beagle for a walk and he pissed all over a stand of fruit outside a greengrocers. It was one of those mortifying moments – I knew I really should offer to pay for the fruit but I simply could not afford to. ::shudder::
The first time I took my boy cat Euclid, may he rest in peace, to the vet when the vet inserted the thermometer into his rear he started to purr very loudly and was obviously enjoying it. Luckily, I had the presence of mind to say “well, he didn’t learn that at home”.
My cat had an infected uterus. I found this out when she came into her first heat, and was spotting blood and pus. The vet was going to give her a hysterectomy, but had to wait until she was out of heat. During the waiting period, I had my wedding shower, at my appartment. So, while everyone else was playing party games and eating cake, I was chasing the cat around with a damp washcloth. Except when she was in the middle of the floor doing her slut routine and giving everybody an eyeful of her oozing orifice.
I used to take my dog Paddy out to the lake near the UGA campus because he loved swimming. Actually, you could get him near just about any body of water and he’d just freak out and start swimming or hopping around in it.
Of course, his favorite thing to do was to get soaking wet and muddy, then make a bee-line for the first open car door he saw. Never my own, usually a total stranger’s. And he had a better eye for cars than I do, obviously, because he would usually pick the most expensive car to run towards.
How I had him so long without getting beaten up, I don’t know.
Binkley (Beagle/Corgi mix) makes these strange yelps that have been, on various occasions, mistaken for a monkey and a bird. It’s usually when we’re in the exam room at the vet.
Mojo (also a Beagle/Corgi mix) doesn’t do well with strange dogs, and once decided he needed to challenge a Great Dane. I’m not sure he realizes just how low to the ground he is. Thankfully, the Dane was too dignified to even acknowledge the beast.
Penny (no idea, some kind of Jack Russell or Rat Terrier mix, sort of looks like a mini Dal) is a 'ho. She LOVES men. She rolls over to expose her belly for anything male. We took her to the local Renaissance Faire one day this past fall, and while we were watching a show, she started out by leaning on the guy sitting next to us, and when he patted her, she crawled into his lap and went to sleep. He thought it was hilarious, and even got his GF to take a picture of them.
Whenever I take Cookie Monster to the vet, there is always one person - including several trained veterinary nurses - who tells me “leave the restraining of your cat to me - I’ve been trained.”
When I tell them that really I should do it because she’s… different from other cats, they always look at me with condescension. Because they’ve restrained dozens of cats before, and what the hell do I know? Besides, she’s so fat and cute-looking and friendly and docile that they simply can’t believe that she - or any other cat - could possibly get the better of them.
Personally, I restrain her wearing gardening gloves and a leather jacket, grabbing her by the scruff of the neck and pinning her down with considerable force in the crook of my arm, while keeping my face as far away from her as possible. But they never listen (the first time, anyway).
The latest perpetrator of this foolish attitude ended up spraying blood all over the vet’s surgery yesterday from four extremely deep puncture wounds to the finger. I got away with only two gashes to the hand, and four parallel gouges in my chest (forgot the leather jacket and the gardening gloves). It’s rather embarrassing, but I have to admit to just a little bit of schadenfreude…
We live within walking distance of our daughter’s school, so Harborwolf or I always walk her to school in the morning, and walk to pick her up. Sometimes one of us takes the dog. One rare occasion, when we picked her up together, we took our dog Zoe. We were there a few minutes early, and there weren’t any other people around in the schoolyard, so we let Zoe run free for a few minutes.
She ran directly to our daughter’s classroom window and proceeded to take a massive dump in front of twenty first-graders. What were we thinking? :smack:
Oh, and I got to keep the music. Score!