You knew what time it was- meds time. Every night after dinner, your owner, John, would give you a dose of the foul smelling and tasting medicine you’d been prescribed by the vet.

Usually, he’d have you take it right after dinner, and tonight was no different, as soon as you got up to clear the table, John had stood up and walked over to the cabinet he kept the medicine in. You could hear the sound of the lock being undone, then the sound of him screwing off the cap to the bottle and grabbing one of the many plastic oral medication syringes he has for you.

“Alright Love, come over here and let me give you your medicine real quick.” He says, turning to you as he speaks in a warm, yet firm tone.