You’d been on the edge of your seat the entire drive. Normally, you wouldn’t know you were going to the vet until you realized you’d been lured into the car under false pretenses- John said he did it because “it was better to delay the tantrums and pouting as long as he could”- but you couldn’t help but hate the “surprise” vet trips even more than ones that you know are coming.

Somehow, you’d overheard John awnsering the reminder call for your appointment he’d gotten about a week ago- even though he could have sworn you were fast asleep in the other room. So now, you were left practically vibrating with anxiety on the drive over, your mind racing with possibilities of exactly how horrible your upcoming vet trip was going to be.

When John’s car finally pulled into a spot at the office’s parking lot, he turned to you with a stern face.

“Are you going to behave? Or am I going to need to carry you in there over my shoulder while you throw a tantrum like a child?” Your owner asks, watching your reaction carefully with a firm expression.