Iggy, terrifying.

“Hi folks, Iggy here! Getting over heartworms and tired of confinement? Just lie down in your crate and breathe really fast — you’ll be out of the crate and going on a car ride before you know it! Of course, it’s to an emergency vet, but what can ya do.”

What? You did that purposely?

“Huh? Oh… um… hi Karen!”

Don’t “hi” me. You faked that whole thing?

“Um… kind of.”

You scared the hell out of me!

“I went on a car ride! It was fun!”

Fun? At two in the morning?

“Any time is a good time for a car ride!”

No, Iggy, two in the morning is not a good time for a car ride when I have to be at work at eight.

“I didn’t have to be at work, though. It was fine.”

It was not fine, Iggy! I got a huge vet bill!

“It was totally worth it! Car ride!”

Ugh. It’s almost five now. I have to work in three hours. See that bed there? I’m crawling into it now, and I’m going to sleep. Lie down in your crate and nap.

“Okay.”

Good night.

“Good night.”

. . . . .

“Karen?”

Mmmph.

“You asleep?”

Mm hmm.

“Okay.”

Mmmph.

“Gotta pee.”

AAAGGHH!

The heartbreak of heartworms.

Hi, everyone — Karen here, without Iggy. Iggy tested positive for heartworms a little while back, and he’s currently at the vet for Immiticide injections to kill the worms. He’s coming home tomorrow, but from what I understand, the treatment is probably making him pretty sore and lethargic, so it’ll be a while before it’s business as usual again here at The Iggy Dialogues.

In the meantime, I’m calling the vet to check up on him. It’s ringing now, so — oh, hang on.

Hello, Animal Hospital.

Hi, this is Karen, checking up on Iggy. Could you tell me how he’s doing?

Hi, Karen. I know Iggy got his first shot this morning.

How’s he handling it?  Is he feeling okay, or is he hurting?  Sleeping a lot?

I guess he’s doing okay so far.

You guess? What’s going on?

You know what, I’m going to put you through to the doctor. One moment.

Okay, readers, this is worrying me–

Hello, Karen?

Hi, Doc. How’s Iggy?

Well, he got his first injection this morning, and he’s–

“IS THAT HER?!”

Down, boy. So, Iggy had–

“LEMME TALK TO HER! GIMME THE PHONE! GIMME THE PHONE! KAREN? HELP!”

Down, boy. As I was saying, he had the first injection, and it doesn’t appear to have affected his behavior–

“GIMME THE PHONE OR SO HELP ME, I WILL PEE IN YOUR RECEPTION AREA LIKE YOU HAVE NEVER SEEN PEE BEFORE!”

–which I suppose could be viewed as a positive–

“NEVER MIND A MOP, YOU BASTARDS ARE GONNA NEED AN ARK!”

–depending on your perspective.

“YOU HEAR ME?  AN ARK!

As you know, we have no choice but to keep him overnight–

“KAREN! THEY STABBED ME! BUNCH OF SICK SADISTS! HELP ME!! HELLLP MEEEEEE!!”

–so, um, we were all curious as to how early you could come and get him tomorrow?

What time do you open?

We open at 8 AM.

Figure 9 AM, then, to give you time to give him the second shot?

“WHAT’S THIS? OH MY GOD, IT’S A GODDAMNED CHIHUAHUA. I’M IN A CAGE ACROSS FROM A GODDAMNED CHIHUAHUA! HEY, YOU KNOW WHAT ‘CHIHUAHUA’ MEANS IN SPANISH?”

We’d like to give him the second shot earlier in the morning, actually.

“IT MEANS ‘I LOOK LIKE JEFF GOLDBLUM IN THE FLY ONLY SMALLER AND UGLIER,’ THAT’S WHAT IT MEANS!”

How soon can you get here?

Shall I come by as soon as you open?

“KAREN! GET ME OUTTA HERE!”

Please do.   

Of course.

Have a good day.  Iggy, please put back the ferret!

*click*

That’s going well.

 

Peer pressure.

 

“This is uncomfortable.”

You’re getting subcutaneous fluids. You’re dehydrated. Hold still. 

“My skin is stretching.  Yuck.”

It’s temporary.  Your body will absorb it, and you’ll be fine.

“I don’t like it here.”

Then why did you make me bring you?

“I dunno.”

Yes you do. Tell me why.

“Well, you know how the cats throw up a lot?”

They never stop reminding me.  Comes with being a cat, I think.

“I thought maybe if I joined in, they’d like me.”

Brilliant.  Did you ever think of just keeping your nose out of their butts?

“Yeah, but I didn’t wanna.  This was a better idea.”

It was?  How’d it work out for you, Quasimodo?

“Shut up.”

 

 

 

M.C. Iggy back on the mic — so, you know, yo. Or something.

20140711-193424.jpg
Yo, cone of shame sucka, chewing on your stitches

M.C. Iggy’s in the waiting room sniffing all your bitchez —

Iggy, what’s going on?

“I got gold bling! And I got shot!”

Okay, whoa, hang on there, pup. You didn’t get shot, you got your shots. And that’s just an orange rabies vaccination tag.

“I’m gangsta!”

You’re schnauza.

“Gangsta!”

You sure?

20140711-193848.jpg
“What! It took two of ’em to hold me back! I’m gangsta!”

Okay, Iggy, you’re gangsta.

Thank you.”

Do you want your Shamrock McSqueakybear now?

“Yes, please.”

20140711-195031.jpg
Good boy.

“Gangsta.”

Okay.