Twice a year, I volunteer to help with the Town's Rabies Clinic. For two hours, we gently vaccinate cats and dogs in the Town Garage for ten bucks a shot. This year, the spring clinic was early - so (read) cold. But there's nothing like a steady stream of frantic felines and stressed-out dogs to warm things up. I used to be one of the folks filling out the paperwork, but the vet (she of endless patience) grew weary of my omissions and dyslexic jottings and moved me into vaccine assistant (I fill the hypos) and cat/dog calmer/wrangler. I look forward to this event like nothing else - other than my yearly trip to SoPo and, this year, my first (drumroll) trip to Minnie-soda. For two hours I get to pet dachshunds (be still, my heart), visit with people seen only once a year, spend time with my favorite vet and her husband, and just bask, knee-deep in animalkind.
We were commenting on how, each year, there seems to be a preponderance of one breed. This year was the year of the beagle. Last year was the year of the dachshund. The year before was year of the foxhound. This year was also the year of the tiny dogs - there were hundreds of them (or so it sounded). Tiny dogs tend to bite you. By the end of the night, I had perfected the Tiny Dog Hold - little head held firmly under my arm, tiny body in a death grip, hiney facing needle. Worked every time with only one nipper.
One fellow brought in four cats and his overwrought, overactive, undersupervised child. This kid went tearassing around the garage, riling up the cats (and the humans), until the vet, very calmly, told him - "I'm saving the BIG needle for you...." He was very quiet the rest of the procedure and, when his father returned with their two dogs, stood quietly by the door - the furthest point from the vet's table of operation.
These are the fastest two hours I ever spend - other than WT (weekend time), which moves at the pace of the speed of sound.