Ya know...

Sometimes a gal's gotta do what a gal's gotta do.

So when His Holiness announced that we were going back to the doctor for a follow-up visit and that I wasn't supposed to eat or drink anything after 10 p.m. the night before, I went into "warrior princess" mode. My savior - Wonder Woman - has been mighty busy lately and her image has been tainted ever since someone posted a pic of her bare bum getting smacked by Super Man on the Internet. I couldn't rely on her to save me so I went to Plan B.

I've learned over the years not to argue with His Holiness when he says we're doing something I object to. I generally just ignore him and make my escape, but this time I knew I couldn't get away in time.

So... in the middle of the night when I got up to go to the bathroom, I scarfed down a few Twinkies, HoHos and DingDongs. I would have had a few Heath Bars but I didn't want to push it. Then, the next morning, while Cowboy was jogging, I made a few boxes of Mac and Cheese for me and the pups. Forget this fasting blood thing - I'm going to get weighed when I get to the doc and I need to carbo load.

When he came back he said: "You didn't eat breakfast, did you?"

Mac and Cheese for breakfast? Nawwww.

"I made breakfast for the pups, dear." (Which was true. And since I've never ever done anything in my life for which I felt guilt, there was no reason to volunteer information that would raise Cowboy's blood pressure.)

"They're going to draw more blood, imp. You don't want our visit to end up with you upended, do you?"

Visit? A doctor's appointment is not a visit. It's a date with doom. And don't they have enough of my blood by now? What are they doing? Selling it to the closet vampires?

"We have to leave as soon as I shower," the giant squid announced.

"I'm ready," I smiled and put the mastiff in the backseat of the car. The doc is obviously afraid of the rottweiler - the mastiff is bigger and has a friendlier face. Fortunately, he also bites on command.

The dog knows where his loyalty lies so he gets down on the floor of the SUV behind the front seat and under a blanket and doesn't pop his head up until we're at the base clinic.

"You brought the beast? How many times do I have to tell you dogs are not allowed in the clinic?"

"You're an Admiral. Rank has its privileges. I'll be much more comfortable with BullyBoy beside me."

"He's not gonna be beside you when I get you home and alone in the bedroom with the door shut!"

ACKKK! I think I was just threatened.

The clinic staff is used to me. They don't get alarmed when I walk in with a 165 lb. dog by my side. I think they're just happy I didn't bounce in with an AK47. So, while Cowboy is talking with the doc, I'm in another room where the nurse is weighing me. I keep her attention on the bar at the top of the scale and BullyBoy puts his paw on the scale next to my foot. It took *forever* to teach him to do that and to hold his paw there until I said "okay" and then remove it as I step off the scale. Between me and BullyBoy's paw, I have gained six pounds! A miracle! The nurse is very impressed with my weight gain. I make a mental note to give the pup extra liver biscuits when we get home.

The doc wants to draw blood.

I say no.

His Holiness says yes.

I run a finger down BullyBoy's back.

BullyBoy smiles - showing his pearly whites. The pup has such a sweet smile. And he wags his tail. Such a well-mannered puppy.

His Holiness arches a brow.

I tap BullyBoy on the head.

BullyBoy morphs into canine terrorist and growls. When a dog growls, it's a bit startling. When a BIG dog like BullyBoy growls, every nerve in your body screams "I DON'T WANT TO DIE!"

His Holiness mutters an unintelligible sound which I'm certain is not a compliment.

The doc eyes the dog and you can just see what he is thinking. RABID DOG! RED ALERT! He says the blood test isn't really all that necessary, just a backup to confirm what he already knows.

I arch a brow at His Holiness and mouth words like "Somalia."

His Holiness makes a hand gesture that clearly interpreted means "spanking" and mouths "you."

Tsk.

We make an appointment to return in 3 months. (As soon as I get home, I cancel the appointment.)

On the way home... His Holiness says he didn't realize BullyBoy's paw weighed so much. Tsk. For someone who was born in the dark ages, Cowboy knows a lot more about my tricks than I give him credit for.

I suggest we stop for brunch and ice cream.

He suggests we high tail it home so he is not tempted to spank me in public.

I suggest Prozac.

He suggests making a stop to pick up some very soft pillows.

I tell him someone I know has referred to him as a "serial spanker."

He tells me he loves that appellation and takes the freeway exit that goes to the road to our house.

I tell him he needs to pull over onto the shoulder NOW.

He pulls over... I grab him and kiss him and tell him I love him for not telling the doc about BullyBoy's paw.

I get a hard swat, a mind blowing kiss, another swat - lighter this time - and since I didn't hurt the doc, I get a promise that we'll go out for a nice dinner later.

"Will I be sitting comfortably at dinner?" I need details.

"Depends."

"Depends on what?"

"On how good you are to me when we get home."

"Ohhhh. I can be very very good."

"You'll have to prove it."

~sigh~

Well, a gal's gotta do what a gal's gotta do... and I did.

~Sar~