My Dog Takes Drugs

While we were on vacation, Peri developed diabetes. She’s pretty much the most housebroken dog that you’ve ever met so an accident is pretty telling, but our worry does nothing to change the fact that when a 165 pound dog has an accident in your house, you pretty much want to die. Or just turn that room into an indoor pool.


The vet diagnosed her and called in a prescription for insulin and needles to Walmart (I don’t usually Walmart, but apparently they are notorious for practically GIVING away pharmaceuticals and all the cool dogs get their insulin there). Upon my arrival at the Walmart Pharmacy pick up counter, I was ordered to “Go to the Drop Off.” “But I’m not dropping off,” I explained “You texted me to let me know that my prescription was ready.”

“For the DOG?” she said (imagine disapproving eyebrows and a facial expression that pretty much infers that I am personally murdering children in lesser developed countries with my white girl problem of buying needles and insulin for my DOG).

“Yes, for the DOG.” I answered (with a facial expression that pretty much let her know that this dog had been nominated for not one, but two Nobel Prizes and was one miracle and a sacrificial death away from Sainthood, thank you very much. None of those things are true, but she makes me feel better when I’m sad and that’s pretty much the same thing.)


“Then go to the Drop Off” she spat back (imagine a facial expression where she tries to maintain composure while I unflinchingly show her with my eyes that there will be a rumble at the bike racks at 3:00. And she’s gonna lose her milk money. And her yellow Swatch Guard).

I sauntered to the Drop Off–all the while shooting eye daggers at the Pick Up bitch–and came face to face with a girl whose name tag said, “Merian” but will heretofore be referred to as, “Mensa.”


“Pam Eikleberry.”

“Not your name. The PATIENT’S name.”

“Periwinkle. Um, I guess, Eikleberry.”

“I don’t have it under Periwinkle. Is there another name it could be under?”

Now, bear in mind that this bitch is standing THREE FEET AWAY from the Pick Up lady. There is not another soul in the pharmacy and they both have obviously been talking about my dog and her meds. They texted me that the prescription was ready. Now, I can’t tell if they are actually the stupidest people alive or if they really are fucking with me. “Um, yeah, Pam Eikleberry.”

“Oh, I see it here, Pam” a nervous upwards glance, “I have to ask you some questions about the patient before we can fill your order. First, may I have the patient’s name?”

I was dumbfounded. Actually could not speak. With a shake of my head, I finally stuttered out, “Periwinkle. Periwinkle Eikleberry.”

“Date of birth?”

“Er, July 2004?”

“I’m sorry ma’am, that’s not correct. I need an exact date.”

“Um, July 15, 2004?”

“No, ma’am, that’s not the date that the doctor gave us.”

“Well, nobody knows the date, we’re all just guessing here. It’s a DOG for Pete’s sake. Can you just give me a hint?!”

“It’s July 1, 2004, ma’am. Insurance?”

“She’s a DOG.”

“Yes, ma’am, may I have your insurance information.”

“My insurance doesn’t cover my dog.”

“So, she’s uninsured?”


“Here. This pamphlet explains the Healthcare Act and ramifications for being uninsured. Do you know that there are costs for being uninsured?”

“My dog doesn’t read pamphlets. Her depth perception is poor and the glossy print is difficult for her to discern. Is there a braille version available?”

“Maybe, would you like me to check?”

“No, thank you. I’ll take this.”

“Does the patient have any drug allergies?”

“Tylenol.” My dog isn’t allergic to anything, but I couldn’t help myself. I really couldn’t. Mensa started typing. “Wait. I was kidding. No. No drug allergies.”

“Any food allergies?”

“Peanuts.” Really, it was just too much damned fun. Mensa started typing again. “No! I was kidding again. No, she has no food allergies. ”

“Phone number?”

“For the dog?”


“Will you be calling her?”

“Yes. When her prescriptions are ready.”

“She doesn’t have thumbs.”

“Then I guess your number is fine, then.”

Truly. This was the worst experience that I have had at a Walmart since. . . . well, since the last time I was at a Walmart.


About peik

What's to say? I'm a chronic fun seeker and life marrow sucker. I live in an ancient brick house in a darling town with my perfect and tolerant husband, my two amazing teenagers (The Giant and The Ginger) and two blue Danes (Oliver and Periwinkle). A lover of obscure roadside attractions and museums of oddity, I travel, write, laugh, make friends, write letters, sometimes run, eat great food and drink good whiskey. I've never had a bad journey and every single day is my grandest adventure.
This entry was posted in confessions of the Weird and Unashamed, Just Being Me and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to My Dog Takes Drugs

  1. Michelle says:

    Dave and I are dying… Let me get my insulin ๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚๐Ÿ˜‚

    Fucking Wal Mart

  2. pdxfunnygirl says:

    It’s like one of those bad sitcom episodes and you keep expecting a laugh track to be playing in the background except it’s real life… people are idiots lol. I’m sorry about your dog, which of course. ๐Ÿ˜ฆ

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