Mr Fusspot had an appointment with the vet at 11 am this morning, and to hear it from him, he had no plans to attend. He'd been out once already and was deeply suspicious of the fact that I was stuffing him into his harness and coat a second time. In fact he climbed back into his bed and refused to move.

Now, I did not have time to fool around. I don't like yanking on the lead because of his old bones, and I can't carry a 21-lb dog several blocks to the vet (at least not without that presenting its own problems). So I stomped downstairs to my storage locker and retrieved his wheeled Pet Gear carrier, which I bought a couple of years ago and which the Fusspot famously refused to enter. It's basically this:

Looks comfy to me, but the Fusspot had his doubts. Anyway today he was not given the choice to develop any doubts. Acting on the element of surprise, I grabbed him, stuffed him in the carrier and zipped it up before he had a chance to form a thought, and wheeled him to the vet. This was slightly mortifying as he wailed and complained for the entire trip. He went flying out of it once we reached the vet's and had to be pacified with liver bits. Then, to continue the mortification theme, he popped a squat and produced an immense anxiety poop right there in the waiting room ... and, when the vet was checking his temperature and giving him a rectal exam, he projectile-sharted and she only just got out of the way in time to avoid a faceful. I was like

Anyway, this is what I had learned at the conclusion of the vet appt:

1) urine test revealed no sugar in his urine, so diabetes is looking less likely;

2) he has developed a heart murmur;

3) they're looking into his renal function and liver function; and

4) they are looking into whether he is developing Cushing's disease.

Oddly enough, when I stuffed him back into the carrier for the trip home, he was quiet. I'm hoping this indicates resignation, at least, if not acceptance.

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And that was my morning. Oh, and with all the tests and the consult and all, it cost me $500.

ETA: I'm presently being annoyed at a friend of mine who is suggesting that I am overreacting to the Fusspot's present condition and implying that I just spent $500 on a whole lot of nothing since he's an old dog and they can't really do anything for him anyway.

Now part of this is my own fault as I had already resolved not to discuss the Fusspot with this same person ever since she suggested that a dog who broke housetraining, even once in a while, would be a dealbreaker for her; but I forgot that I had decided to not to bring up the Fusspot and also her last dog had had Cushing's, so I was looking for some info. Now I am regretting that and after the last few texts in which she attempted to point out that the Fusspot had no cushinoid symptoms and that I was freaking out for nothing, I just sent a terse message that said "Right now he's fine. He's at home. It's up to the vet and if I find out anything new I'll let you know," only I don't actually plan to let her know.

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This hurts me because when her own very much loved dog was dying, I never once said "You know, he's not looking good, maybe it's time", or questioned the wisdom of the CT scan the dog had (at enormous expense) or expressed even once the thought that this might be the end of the road for him, because I would never say that to someone who is trying to cope with the anxiety and heartbreak caused by a sick pet. Even if I thought it I would never say it out loud. I just tried to be supportive and comforting. And yet it seems that she's ready to write off the Fusspot and she doesn't care who knows it. So I'm pissed. And hurt. Because I am pathetic.