Today I cried, watching “The Art of Racing in the Rain.” It’s a movie where the main character is a dog with Kevin Costner’s voice. I love a good dog movie. I began to reminisce about the dogs in my life and came up with the perfect dog reality show. The name of this reality show; Jack, Jill, and Katya Go to the Vet.

My husband, Randy, and I were living in Russia, in the village of Esso. Our log cabin sat on the edge of a camp property, where we conducted summer camps for children from neighboring villages. Living with us were three animals; Jack, Jill, and Katya.

Jack, a German Shepherd/husky, mix served as our camp guard dog. Next, there was Jill, a small feral cat that only tolerated us because we fed her. Lastly, we had Katya, our long-time family dog. A Shiba Inu, Katya resembled a small red fox with a curly tail.

About a month before our first camp, I began wondering if Jack and Jill had been vaccinated for rabies. I knew Katya needed a booster, so I decided to take the whole crew to the local vet.

My husband suggested walking the animals to the vet. We put a makeshift rope leash on Jack, who proceeded to put on a gold medal-worthy gymnastic act with the rope. We decided throwing him in the back of the jeep would be the best course of action. Jack was seventy pounds of pure muscle that did not want to ride in the car. After much yelling, pushing, shoving, and manic barking, we crammed Jack in the back of the jeep and slammed the door.

Unlike Jack, Katya loved riding in the car. Snapping on her leash, she proudly sashayed to the vehicle and jumped into the back seat. There she sat, with queen-like dignity, looking down her nose at Jack-the-peasant’s antics in the back of the jeep.

Saving the worst best for last, I prepared to tackle Jill.  Shakespeare aptly described Jill when he wrote, “Though she be but little, she is fierce!” I knew Jill would not go willingly into the jeep, so I grabbed a heavy-duty canvas tote, quickly thrust her inside, and zipped the top closed.

After loading our menagerie, Randy drove while I held Jill’s tote bag in my lap during the five-minute drive to the vet’s office.

The moment the jeep began moving, Jack freaked out. He leaped into the back seat, pushing Queen Katya off her throne. Then Jack stuck his head through the gap between the front seats, hoping to join Jill and I.  I quickly shoved my shoulder in the gap to block Jack, and he showed his appreciation by loudly panting and drooling in my ear.

Of course, Jack’s attempt to crawl in the front seat had Jill yowling at the top of her lungs. I looked down and saw a lone paw, deadly claws unsheathed, sticking out of the zipper perilously close to my arm.

Not a moment too soon, we arrived at the vet’s cabin.

My husband opened the back door, grabbed Jack’s rope, and released Jack from his backseat prison. Jack took off like a bullet, leaving a wicked rope burn across Randy’s hand, but fortunately running straight into the vet’s fenced yard. While Randy chased down Jack, I picked up Queen Katya and Feral Jill’s tote, and we all paraded into the vet’s office.

The vet took one horrified look at our shrieking clawing circus and asked if all these animals belonged to us. After we explained the need for rabies shots, he told us to bring one animal at a time into the office.

I opted to stay on the porch with Katya and the yowling tote bag, while Randy dragged Jack into the office. I could hear furniture over-turning, heavy panting, and the vet shouting, “hold his head, hold his head!” Suddenly the office door flew open, and Jack streaked outside and attempted to leap the fence. Unfortunately, he high-centered on the top of the fence and needed a little shove to achieve freedom. Randy, rather forcefully, applied the required assistance, and Jack galloped down the road, tongue flying in the wind, without a backward glance. We let him go, knowing he’d find his way home.

Randy took charge of the demon-possessed tote bag, and I led Katya in for her shot. The shell-shocked vet asked if Katya would bite. I said no, but then on cue, Katya dropped her queenly posture and begin baring her teeth. After I pinned Katya with an award-winning wrestling move, the vet administered the shot. Covered with fur, I took Katya out to Randy and exchanged her for the bag-o-Jill.

Unzipping the bag, I quickly grabbed the violently hissing Jill. I purposely wore a long-sleeved denim shirt, but Jill still managed to make hash-tag marks on my hands and arms. She wiggled out of my grasp and began ricocheting off the furniture, walls, and windows. I finally snagged her when she tried to climb the curtains. In record time, the vet injected her, and I hastily zipped her back into her canvas prison.

When we arrived home, Jack enthusiastically greeted us, and proceeded to chase Katya around the yard. Jill, defiantly switching her tail, stalked off and ignored us until feeding time. Life returned to normal.

But the look on the vet’s face as we left continued to haunt me. His eyes were glazed, and his office was in shambles. And the only consolation he had was the knowledge that our pets were protected from rabies.

Because in Russia, rabies shots are given for free.

Maybe I should have tipped him……