I noticed the other day that we still have Ruthie’s collar, tags and leash in the back seat of the Subaru where we put them on Oct. 17 when we left the vet’s office without her.
The office staff decided to spell her name with a “y” instead of the “ie” that we preferred, but we never bothered to correct them.
They issue a plastic wallet card for each pet they vaccinate, which comes in handy when you take your pet to a groomer or someone else who needs assurance that the vaccinations are current. This is Ruthie’s card, which I can’t bring myself to throw away. It will be a long time before we’re ready to discard her collar, tags and leash, tool. Maybe never. I don’t know why they didn’t put her microchip number on the card. It ought to be in their records.
Since Ruthie was a rescue dog, we had no way of knowing her exact birthdate, but we guessed she was about four months old when we got her in October, 1998. So I arbitrarily gave her my mother’s June 16 birthday. She had a way of looking at me that reminded me of my mother’s stern gaze, so it just seemed natural.
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