Romy hated going to the vet. His first humans had taken him when he was smaller and fit onto the back seat of their car. That was the only part he liked since he found old french fries and food wrappers given from the window in the wall with the loud crackling voice. His new human always put him in a crate in the back of the van, a crate with a clean pad that smelled like the hind end of the single litter human at the other house. He used to ride with his head out the window and watch his mouthwater fly in long parachutes toward the trunk, like the pink soft kibble the older human kids chewed and never swallowed. There was nothing to see now on the drive and Romy generally sank into the cushion and the sweet smell and fell peacefully asleep.

Romy still worried when his new human, Helen, picked up the leash and car keys. He stared into her eyes carefully before walking to the door of the garage. So far, he had only seen kindness and love, and not the other look. The avoided look that results in the stay at the kennel that smelled of death and sadness. And loss. But, sometimes there was a faint whiff of joy and release, when some were reunited, and when some were saved. Helen and Ray so far always held his gaze and he was feeling a quietness settle into his large frame. He liked to push across their feet while they sat reading or watching the box with moving pictures. Sometimes when Helen laughed, her legs would shake and Romy’s head would bounce up and down on top of her leather paw covers.

After his morning kibble bowl, Romy had heard Helen tell Ray that she was taking him to Dr. Steve for a "Lime Shot". Romy was not always good at colors, he knew from talk at the big kennel that some dogs couldn’t see color at all, but he knew he didn’t like shots no matter what color they were supposed to be. It almost put him in a grumpy mood, until he went out and smelled the clear air. The house was filled with so many smells it became exhausting sometimes and he just gave up and rolled over on his back and slept with his feet in the air and his nose buried upside down in the carpet or pad. That morning Romy had even smiled through the wire at the great one, until he heard a low growl that forced him to turn away quickly, wishing he could whistle like the human boys who walked up the big hill at the front of the house. Romy was beginning to feel strong and quick from the daily offerings of kibble but then he would watch the great one strut around the yard through the glass door, and he would feel thin and soft again.

Romy sighed as they walked into the vet’s office later that morning, as the smell of small fur reached his nostrils. He heard squeals from the humans, like so many times before.

"Oh, Buster, come over here. He could eat you in one bite. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a dog that big. What kind of dog is he?"

His human was always friendly and polite.

"Romy is a Great Dane."

"Oh my!" The small fur owners always seemed taken aback, as if Helen admitted she owned cats right out loud or something. Helen always smiled and Romy sometimes wished she would fix her gaze on the offending party, like the great one would do, and say "The Great Dane is the Apollo of dogs you know." Since Helen didn’t do this, Romy tried to give the small fur a look of superiority as he backed up and sat on Helen’s lap to wait. He was pleased when the smaller dog pretended interest in a piece of stray hair on the floor.

Eventually the people with the cartoon dogs on their jackets recognized him and had Helen take him to a private room to wait. Romy was sure this room was reserved for special dogs and felt a twinge of pity for the small furs who had to wait in the common room. The room was decorated with doctor toys which didn’t interest Romy too much; a red ball-like object had been cut open and seemed to have dried spaghetti all through it. This seemed an incredible waste to Romy, who had liked the taste of the noodles when he had been given a few by a child relative of Helen’s. His new humans didn’t give him any of their food, even when they were finished at their feeding table. He had heard Helen talking into the small bone-like thing that rang at odd intervals and was tied to the wall with a curly string, about putting "Cottage Cheese" into his morning kibble. He figured that was the white stuff that stuck on his nose sometimes. He liked the "Pressure Cooked Chicken" in his evening kibble, but there was never more than half a paw full stirred in.

Romy yawned nervously as he waited for the colored shot and looked at the pictures on the walls. No great ones here. There was a picture of a fat dog taken from above and made Romy think that maybe that dog should do that "Tie Bow" thing that Helen did in the great room everyday to lose weight. Romy was really starting to care for Helen so he pretended not to watch her bouncing around the room like a litter of six week old puppies. It was hard, however, to ignore her grunts and sometimes his ears perked and he hoped she didn’t notice.

Romy read a new poster carefully since it seemed educational. It had a photo of a Fox Terrier, like that Wishbone dog on the moving picture box, with lines drawn from parts of his body. The big writing said, "Contrary to popular belief, signs of old age aren’t always age." Romy shook his head a bit at that and Helen rubbed his ears soothingly and murmured, "It’s okay boy, it’s okay."

Are you sure Romy thought. This dog has a line coming from his tail that says, "doesn’t wag", and one from under his tail that says "has accidents in the house". There were other tags that read "turns away when petted", "won’t greet you at the door" "might bark at night and sleep all day", "appears lost and confused", "doesn’t recognize or respond to you". The bottom of the picture read, "Cognitive Dysfunction Syndrome". Geez, Romy thought, what color shot was that?

Romy looked on the other wall and tensed the muscles in his neck. It was a picture of a sitting room with ripped up cushions and broken human toys. And a "go potty" on the inside floor. Romy read the words carefully, "When you go out, does your dog destroy, soil, bark". At the bottom it said, "Overcome separation anxiety—Clomicalm". Romy swallowed and lowered his head like his collar was too tight. What was that all about? Was this the cat room? Romy sniffed and then quickly stopped, he didn’t smell cat, but all the scents in the room made him momentarily dizzy so that he leaned against Helen’s leg heavily. She seemed to like this because she put her arm around his back and he figured it must be shocking to her too.

He was afraid to read more but he was drawn to it like an old nylabone. There was a picture of an old Basset Hound, which Romy thought was a really cheap shot since everyone knew that Bassets only really looked good for the first six months when they were puppies. "Arthritis" was in big letters. "Can you spot signs of arthritis in your dog? 1. Limping; 2. Difficulty climbing stairs; 3. Lagging behind; 4. Stiff after play; 5. Licking of Joint; 6. Loss of Appetite". The bottom had a red band with the words "Etogestic" and "Rimadyl" in black letters. Romy gulped a few times and tasted kibble again. What was up with this? He liked to lick his joints and he hated going up those deck stairs.

Romy was starting to feel stiff and confused, and he hurriedly scanned the walls for anything about a "lime" shot but he couldn’t find anything. Dr. Steve opened the door wearing a smile and carrying a needle. He walked over to Romy and Helen and talked about another human Helen knew for a few moments before turning to Romy. He clapped Romy several times on the neck like he might have worked with cows earlier in the day and then said loudly, as if Romy still had wax in his ears, "And how is the big guy this morning?" Romy looked pointedly at the walls hoping to convey that Dr. Steve needed to hire a new decorator. Surely Helen could give him a few pictures, or maybe a poster of Wish Bone. Even, Romy shuddered, a picture of the mis-marked Scooby Do would be better than the horror on these walls.

"It seems late in the year to be giving him this, but since he is in good weight and health I guess it is the best route to take," Helen said to the vet.

"We’re seeing ticks up through December in the last few years. I think the lyme series is a good prevention if there is even a chance the dogs will come into contact with ticks."

"Yes, I know. With my back yard, I’m surprised we don’t see more of them."

Dr. Steve pulled some skin on Romy’s back and then he noticed the needle was empty. All this over a tick! Romy relaxed his neck muscles and starting panting in relief.

He watched Helen hand the vet a plastic bag from her jacket pocket with his morning "potty" in it.

"I almost forgot this. You said you wanted to keep checking his stools for a bit even though everything has been clear". Romy was momentarily embarrassed until he realized this must be payment for the shot. He thought maybe Helen should have bargained a bit, maybe only given him half, but he was anxious to leave so he just shook his head again.

One of the ladies in the cartoon coat offered him a large dog biscuit as they were leaving and he wagged his tail and carried it to the van without chewing it until he was in his crate. He paused in his chewing as Helen talked to him as she drove.

"You have to go back in two weeks for your last lyme shot and then you don’t have to go for another year."

Romy chewed slowly. That didn’t seem so bad, he thought. He just hoped Helen asked for change next time.