I think I've become the kind of pet owner vets hate.
At the beginning of day camp, Oscar got sick. We shall not go into details. But it was a little extreme, and he had been sick the week before, so I called the vet. Actually twice. They gave me some tips and told me if he didn't improve, he'd need to "be seen."
Well, he improved, but when we returned from camp, he was flealess but itching like crazy, his ears were bothering him, and . . . other stuff. So I called again and they told me I should probably bring him in and get him checked out.
Today was the appointment in question, so I left work early. But I took a wrong turn (no excuse for this . . . but I did it) and then got stuck in traffic, so I ended up being about 15 minutes late. Oscar was pretty well behaved in his examination, but he didn't actually have much wrong with him, and then as I was getting ready to pay, he let loose all over the floor. Granted, it was that time of day, I guess, but he doesn't really do that anymore, and it was embarrassing.
The vets were gracious but seemed less than overjoyed, kind of like the other pet owners whose appointments were a little bit delayed because of us. But the vets shouldn't dislike us that much. I mean, I paid 'em.
I thought hypochondria only applied to onesself . . .