And Now, H-e-e-e-re's Roxy!

Or: How Roxy Took Over the Vet's Office in Under Four Minutes

Roxy, our 3-month-old English Shepherd pup, had her vet appointment today—and everything went just fine, medically speaking. Emotionally? Socially? Politically? That office may never be the same.

We weren’t there for more than a few minutes before Roxy decided the entire waiting room was operating in absolute chaos and she, a puppy with no credentials whatsoever, needed to restore order immediately.

Now, this was your standard vet office scene—cats in crates, dogs on laps, a parrot in a carrier muttering what I think were obscenities, and a general air of nervous anticipation. Pretty normal. Until the mini fox terrier on her mom’s lap made a fatal error in judgment: she jumped to the floor.

Roxy, who had apparently appointed herself Director of Ground Traffic and Morality Enforcement, barked once. Just once. The fox terrier hit reverse so fast she might’ve dislocated time. Back up in mom’s lap like she’d been yanked by an invisible doggie fishing line.

And that, dear reader, is when things escalated.

Suddenly Roxy was running a one-puppy security detail. If any dog dared so much as shift on their leash or wander more than three inches from their human, she lit them up with a sharp bark and a judgmental glare that said, “Don’t make me come over there.”

She wasn’t just herding animals—she was herding humans. At one point, a man slid his cat's carrier a little closer to the wall to make room for someone else. Roxy gave him the stink eye and let out a low grumble like she was channeling Clint Eastwood in a western. “That cage goes back where it came from, pilgrim.”

I finally cupped her fuzzy little muzzle and whispered, “Enough, Sergeant.” And like someone had hit the mute button, she stopped. Just like that.

She sat. She watched. She judged. Quietly. I have no doubt she was still mentally logging every violation of personal space, leash entanglement, and unauthorized sniff. But at least she let the rest of the appointment proceed without assigning anyone community service.

So yes, Roxy’s vet check went well. Her weight is good, her heart is healthy, and her sense of order is... alarmingly strong. If she ever learns PowerPoint, I fully expect her to start holding performance reviews.

Roxy’s Rules for Proper Waiting Room Behavior

(As dictated by one very opinionated English Shepherd pup)

1. Stay in your assigned seat.
   If you started on a lap, stay on the lap. If you're on the floor, stay on the floor. Musical chairs is not a game we’re playing here.

2. Thou shalt not wander.
   If you leave your human's side, I will bark you back like a fuzzy TSA agent with boundary issues.

3. No unsanctioned sniffing.
   This is a place of medicine and dignity, not speed dating for dogs.

4. No crate shuffling.
   That cat carrier is in exactly the right spot. I don’t care if the sun is hitting it weird or you want more leg room. Put. It. Back.

5. Silence is golden.
   Excessive whining, yapping, or interpretive howling will be met with judgmental side-eye and a formal warning bark.

6. All treats must be declared.
   If you brought snacks, they are community snacks. Don’t make it weird.

7. Humans, get it together.
   Keep your leashes untangled, your emotional support coffee contained, and your phone out of my face. I’m working here.

8. Obey the Alpha (me).
   I am compact, confident, and made entirely of justice, opinions, and the unshakable belief that I run this place. This is my waiting room now.