Milo, choosing a pen. I hope it isn’t a red one!
Yesterday was Milo’s first trip to the vet.
We couldn’t have chosen the worst day for it as the outside temperature was – 4. The car looked as though it had been frosted, very pretty, but the doors were all frozen shut!
When we drove into the vet’s car park, we suddenly remembered the last time we had been there. I wanted to turn around and go home, but the memories flooded my mind and cancelled out all coherent thoughts.
When our 18-year-old black and white fur baby took ill early last year, we brought him to this vet, hoping for the best. Sadly, this wasn’t to be, and we lost him that day.
The pain tried to come flooding back as we relived that terrible moment all over again, but we held on to our emotions, parked the car and walked into the surgery, aware that our tiny new arrival relied on us to do our best for him.
Yesterday was the perfect reminder of why we haven’t looked for another fur baby before, but in a way, we didn’t choose Milo. We think he chose us…