"Oh Freddie!" He heard his mother's voice. "I had a feeling..."
Freddie wagged his tail and approached his mother. "Are you OK, dear?" She remembered the communication system Michael had established.
He barked twice.
"Well, we came home early because I just knew this might happen," she said. "And there's still time."
He wondered what she meant. Time for what?
"I'll get the collar and leash," Dad said, stepping past him.
Freddie barked at his mom. "What's going on?"
He was so intent on his mother that he didn't realize his father had returned until he felt the collar being fastened around his neck. He heard the snap of collar to the leash as his father quickly fastened them together.
"You could be a dog more than you are a boy," his mom explained. "We think it's important that you get checked out."
Checked out? He didn't understand what... Then, it dawned on him. They wanted to take him to see a veterinarian. He tried to tug on the collar as he barked once, quite plainly.
"Freddie, we don't even know anything about this dog that you've become," mom insisted. "It's better to be safe than sorry."
"Come on, boy," Dad said. He corrected himself, but the damage was done. "I mean, come on, Freddie."
Whether it was from shock at being referred to like an animal by his own father or from a dog mind conditioned to following the orders of humans, Freddie followed.
Fifteen minutes later, they arrived at a clinic just off the highway. His father had rolled down the window and let Freddie ride in the front seat with his head outside the window. The surprising thing, perhaps for both of them, was how much Freddie enjoyed the sensation of having the wind whip over him as the car sped to their destination. He even forgot his apprehension about being taken to see a vet letting his tongue loll forth from his mouth to flap in the breeze as they headed down the highway.
All of his misgivings rushed back once they arrived. Holding the leash firmly, his father waited for him to step from the parked car. He leaned closer. "As far as people know, you're a dog, so don't do anything that would make them think otherwise," his father instructed.
Freddie barked twice to show he understood, but he wondered what exactly his dad thought he might do.
Stepping inside the clinic proved unpleasant. He smelled other dogs and even some cats. Some of them produced scents that screamed illness and pain, which made him squirm uncomfortably and tuck his tail between his legs. His father paid no mind and marched Freddie to the front counter.
"I'm Mr. Benson," his dad said. "I called about my dog."
A woman leaned over the counter for a better look. "Oh, he's a big one, isn't he?"
Freddie barked twice, to his father's chagrin.
"Quiet, boy."
"Oh, he's probably just nervous," the woman said, handing dad a clipboard with paperwork. "The doctor will see you soon, but please fill out all that information about...oh, what is his name?"
"Fred..." Dad said before he stopped himself.
The woman smiled and jotted down Fred. "Nice to meet you, Fred."
Freddie whimpered.
He looked across the room and saw a poodle and two carriers holding cats. The poodle saw him and gave a tiny yip. A low growl came from the shadows of one of the pet carriers. Soon enough, the woman informed them they could go into one of the exam rooms. Another woman met them and worked Freddie onto a scale. He discovered that he weighed 77 pounds, which wasn't even half of what he weighed as a human.
After another brief wait, the doctor finally arrived. He wore a blue smock and looked about the age of Freddie's dad.
"So, this is Fred?" The vet asked.
"Yes," Dad said and Freddie barked once.
"It's good that you're both in agreement," the vet joked. "I'm Doctor Wexler."
Dad nodded and the vet asked if he could put Freddie on the exam table. Dad looked reluctant, but he finally got his arms beneath his son's canine form and lifted him.
"Thank you," the doctor said. He had pulled on a pair of gloves. He began the examination, checking Freddie's ears and mouth, running his rubber-encased fingers over his teeth and tongue. Freddie felt too nervous to resist. He patted the table as a signal for Freddie to rise, which he did.
Suddenly, Freddie felt the gloved hands near his privates and yelped in surprise to feel the doctor's fingers run along the length of the fur-lined sheath. "Oh, he's intact!" The doctor said with some surprise as Freddie felt his balls massaged by the doctor.
"Yes," dad said, as if he'd rather not have to say anything.
"I usually recommend neutering for male dogs," the vet said. "It's inexpensive and simply involves an overnight stay."
Freddie produced one loud, clear bark. "What the hell?"
"No, I don't think so," Dad said.
"Are you planning on using him for breeding?" The doctor asked. "He does appear purebred..."
"No, I don't think so," Dad stuck to his script.
"Well, if you're not wanting him to breed, it's really best to have him neutered. He'll be easier to handle and usually more docile..."
Freddie barked once again. "Is this guy a sadist?"
"I'll talk it over with my wife," Dad said, mostly to divert the doctor from the issue.
"What's to talk about?" Freddie thought to himself.
"Well, this is his first visit, so he will get the whole battery of shots," the vet said. "As a precaution, I'll give you some worm medication."
Freddie felt nauseated.
"Have you noticed any problems with fleas?"
"No, I don't think so," Dad began to sound like a recording.
Fleas? Now Freddie began to experience hard-to-reach itches. Right on the table he positioned his left hind leg to scratch at one on his belly.
"Would you like a pet microchip?" The vet asked.
"A what?"
The doctor explained. "A collar with tags is great, but either can fall off or become damaged. Fortunately, technology has made it possible to equip your pet with a microchip for permanent identification. It's a simple procedure. We slip it beneath the skin right between his shoulder blades using a needle..."
"Is it expensive?"
"Fifty bucks," the vet said.
"Not right now," Dad decided. "He's a stay-at-home dog, for the most part. I don't think it would be necessary."
The doctor proceeded with the shots. By the time it was over, a sore Freddie felt like a pincushion. He had been given shots for rabies, distemper, parvo, and adenovirus.
Dad paid the bill and then walked his son the dog back to the car. Freddie hoped he never had to see another vet. He still felt anger that the doctor had tried to convince his father on the merits of neutering.
"Well, that should keep your mom happy," Dad said as he got me settled in the car again, revealing whose idea it was to send me to a vet.