(I am a veterinary technician. A client brings her Labrador in for an exam and rabies vaccine without an appointment. We have a few spare minutes, so we work her in. During the exam, she mentions a growth on the dog’s eyelid, so the doctor takes a look. We do not normally put animals under anesthesia on Saturdays due to our busy schedule.)

Doctor: “Well, it seems to be causing some irritation to the eye itself, so it should probably be removed soon.”

Client: “Could you go ahead and do that today?”

Doctor: “[My Name], do we have time to put him under?”

Me: “Not really. We only had time to do this exam because our last appointment didn’t take long. We still have two rooms to go in, and then two appointments scheduled after that. We close in about two hours.”

Client: “Well, it shouldn’t take long. It’s just a little bump on his eyelid. You’ll have plenty of time.”

Me: “Ma’am, with all due respect, it takes about twenty minutes just to get him under anesthesia, and then we’d have to do the procedure and wake him up. That would put all of our appointments behind. I’d hate to rush through your dog’s surgery. We have plenty of time during our normal surgery hours on Monday. That’ll give you a chance to fast him beforehand, anyway.”

Doctor: “Well, I could use [anesthetic drug] instead of the gas. It’d be more expensive but we could do it today.”

Client: “Yes, yes, let’s do that. I work on Monday so it can’t wait.”

(I glare at the doctor. He shrugs. Another technician takes the dog to the back and I walk the client to the front desk to check out. While I’m writing up her file I hear her complaining to the receptionist.)

Receptionist: “Your total comes to [total]. If you have other errands to do, your dog should be ready to go home in about an hour.”

Client: “An hour? That’s way too long! And why does this cost so much? I wasn’t planning on spending this much money!”

Me: “If you’ve got other things to do, you’re more than welcome to make an appointment to drop him off Monday. It’ll be cheaper Monday, as well, since we’d use a different anesthetic.”

Client: “I can’t drop him off Monday! I work all day!”

Me: “Then he’ll be ready in an hour. We can’t rush the doctor any more than that without risking your pet’s life.”

(It’s a few days before Christmas. I walk into the living room and see our dog, Oreo, wearing reindeer antlers.)

Me: “Oreo! You look so cute!”

Daughter: “Who’s Oreo? All I see is Rudolph.”

Wife: “Hitler?”

Me & Our Daughter: “WHAT?!”

Wife: “Rudolph Hitler.”

Me: “That’s Adolf.”

Daughter: “Rudolph is the red-nosed reindeer. Remember?”

Wife: “Oh, that’s right. Whoops.”

(I am talking with some of my officemates and the topic of snakes comes up for some reason. I have a pet corn snake, of whom I am very fond. One of my coworkers is pretty terrified of snakes, but he has a lot of questions about them even so.)

Coworker: “How big is this thing?”

Me: “About two to three feet. Not venomous, pretty chill.”

Coworker: “What does it eat?”

Me: “He eats mice. That was the one weird thing I had to get used to: keeping mice in the freezer.”

Coworker: “He eats frozen mice?”

Me: “No, you have to thaw them out in hot water or they can’t digest them.”

Coworker: “So, then what? The mouse comes back to life?”

Other Coworker: *facepalming* “[Coworker], it’s not cryosleep. It’s a freezer.”

(I was too busy giggling to answer. I’m sure my snake would love it if they actually came back to life, but… no.)

(I’m at a family get together and we are discussing gifts. It turns to a kind of clay, safe for children and non-toxic.)

Brother: “Nope, not for [His Three-Year-Old Daughter]. No. Njet. I don’t want it.”

Me: *ready to launch into a spiel about stimulating creativity, etc.*

Brother: “No, I’m not having it. [Dog] isn’t going to s*** rainbows again.”

(Apparently, his Jack Russel finds the dough irresistible and gobbles it up. Brother wins.)

My son was pulled out of public school at seven due to his teacher racially abusing him in the classroom. In the days after the incident, my son couldn’t sleep, and if he did, it was only for a few hours at a time before he’d wake from nightmares. He wouldn’t sleep in his own bed; he was either with my husband and me, or with his older brother, who didn’t mind sharing his bed.

This continued for several months, until one weekend. Our oldest had gone away for two weeks with his school on a camping trip and my husband had come down with the flu. This meant my youngest couldn’t share the bed with us — I was sleeping on the couch — and thus, he started to panic.

Our big, “mean” guard dog, a Rottweiler named Commander, walked over to my son and gently started to lick at his hands. My son became distracted, petting the dog. Commander was an absolute softy, even if he didn’t look like it. He would rather lick you to death than bite you, and he was always surprising us in different ways.

After he had calmed down, my son asked if Commander could come to his room with him. I told him that I would make the exception that if he felt safe with the dog, I would allow it. My son hurriedly ran to his room, calling for the dog to follow. Commander knew that he wasn’t allowed in my son’s rooms and was hesitant to follow, but did anyway.

When I went to check on them a few hours later, my son was asleep in his bed, Commander laying next to him under the blankets and keeping a close watch on him. When I jokingly asked if everything was all right, Commander even gave that small “hruf” he would when he was content.

Commander was with my son day and night until Thunder, my son’s PTSD service dog, arrived. And even then, Commander was never too far from my son’s side until the day he passed over the rainbow bridge.

Of course, we had him cremated and turned into a small pendant that my son wears every day, so Commander could still be with him wherever he goes.

This story is part of our International Day Of Happiness roundup!

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