The first week of July, Franklin had his first official wellness visit. We took a recommendation for a vet. It’s a twenty minute ride and, unfortunately, was the same day as a mega thunderstorm. Franklin was less than amused at being in the car that long. But, he held his own.
It was a late day appointment and, because of the severe weather, we had to leave rather early. I wanted to avoid the majority of the storm. This also meant that their were several patients there already- three small dogs and a puppy. The puppy’s owner was more concerned with his phone than us, but, I saw the exchanged glances from the small dog parents. A pitbull had arrived and they were nervous.
As if needing clarification, one of the women asked me if he was, in fact, a pit. Yes, I told her. After checking in, I politely asked the women if they’d mind if we sat. Moving themselves & their purses away from us to the other side of the bench, we waited until they felt secure. (Franklin had no intention of stealing their purses, but, whatever.) They scooped up their dogs and eyed him suspiciously. Frank was nervous and whining a bit. I bent to whisper comfort to him and he gave me kisses. At this point, the other dog parents were shocked that he hadn’t bitten my face off.
He then hopped up on the bench next to me and sat like a person. Now assured that he wasn’t a vicious murder dog, one lady said he was quite well-behaved and admitted her fear of pitties. At least we were communicating. Soon, everyone was talking. That’s Franklin, the stereotype breaker. I was pretty proud. One of the small dogs felt strong enough to strut on over and Franklin let him sniff and bark at him without incident. The owners were pleased.
When our name was called, one lady remarked that she was really glad to have met us. Good stuff! I had my Franklin medical file in hand and was ready. First, the weigh in. Being that Frank was a less than ideal 63 pounds at the rescue, fingers were crossed. He sat up on the scale like a good boy and BAM! 70 pounds! He had gained a cool 7 pounds. A healthy 7 to boot. 5 less than his ideal, but hey, 7 pounds!
Next up was the part I dreaded the most- bloodwork. But, my chilled out good boy never flinched, whimpered or moved. They were impressed. He got treats.
Even after shots and multiple poking, prodding hands, he was chilled. More treats. The assistant said he was the best behaved dog that day as she tried to discretely hand him more treats. Take that, pit bull haters! Before seeing the actual vet, the assistant let me know that he was still positive for Lyme. However, his heart, lungs, and kidneys were normal and his stool sample, too. Then, we met the vet.
She let me know how good he looked. She’d went through the file I’d brought, seen his ‘before’ picture, and was super happy with how he looked now. The 7 pounds made her happier.
She complimented his behavior and said to keep doing what we were doing. Then, she kind of blew my mind by showing me some additional scars and marks I hadn’t seen before. She moved her hand over his fur in certain spots, exposing the skin a little more. She said, ‘This poor guy has really been through it.’ It hurt my heart to hear it, but, she reminded me, he was in a safe space now and obviously, getting crazy love and affection. That’s true. It’s hard not to spoil the crap out of him. The assistants had remarked that they wanted to spoil him, too.
He’s been doing this thing where he stands on his back legs (he’s only a few inches shorter than me) and wraps his paws in a sort of hug when he needs extra love. He did this multiple times at the vet’s. Our vet’s response was that he loves his momma. Good. Momma loves him, too.