I love my pets, and I love my veterinarian.

Actually, I should say veterinarians.

Because that's my point today.

Not only do I have veterinarians, plural, but I also have specialty veterinarians.

If this sounds expensive to you, it is.

But honestly, I'm not complaining.

I work so my dog can have a cardiologist.

Let's begin with Little Tony, who recovered from his heart rupture.

Yes, you read that correctly.

This dog’s heart actually tore, and he was at death's door, but he survived.

Evidently, death’s door has a dog door.

Either way, Little Tony went right through.

Amazingly, he recovered, with the help of his genius cardiologist.

Little Tony is now on heart medication and told me he wants a reverse mortgage.

So you know he's fine.

Then one of the other dogs, Boone, turned up with ulcers on his eyes, which he gave himself by scratching.

So of course I was sent to a doggie ophthalmologist.

And now the poor dog is on drops every two hours around the clock, wears a plastic cone, and might need surgery.

And I might need a doggie ophthalmologic surgeon.

Meanwhile, I need new glasses but have no time to go to the ophthalmologist because I'm taking my dog to one.

You know who else needs glasses?

My chickens.

Not even kidding.

Did you know they make glasses for chickens?

Well, they do.

My chicken vet told me about them.

If you didn't know chickens had vets, neither did I.

But they do, and I have one.

So far, I haven’t gone to a chicken specialty vet, but I’m sure I will soon and I’ve already packed my checkbook.

Anyway, chickens need glasses when they start pecking each other, and supposedly the glasses are rose-colored so that when they wear them, they can’t tell there's blood and they won't peck it again.

Yes, chickens see life through rose-colored glasses.

You would, too, if you lived on a farm owned by a vegetarian.

My hens have been fighting lately, and I'm not sure why, but I have a guess.

You recall I have a rooster named Bradley Chicken Cooper.

I think they heard Bradley Chicken Cooper is single again.

Evidently, they’re fighting over him.

Wouldn't you?

Anyway, I'm not going to get glasses for the chickens because I looked online and they’re not really glasses, they're more like blinders and I'm not about to put blinders on chickens.

Instead, I’m going to remodel their coop to give them more room.

What girl doesn't want an addition?

That's the thing about animals you live with.

You love them before they start costing a fortune.

Still not complaining.

Evidently, the next specialist I need to see is a doggie dermatologist, because the dogs rub their butt on the rug.

I do the same thing.

It feels good.

But then they started biting their paws, so I took them to the vet, and it turns out they’re allergic to grass.

Can someone explain to me when dogs started being allergic to grass?

Or anything, for that matter?

When we were little, were dogs allergic to grass?

Are dogs more sensitive, or are we?

Bottom line, now I'm supposed to buy pads soaked with hydrocortisone and wipe the dogs’ paws every time they come in from outside.

Let’s do the math.

Four dogs, four paws apiece, and five billion trips outside.

Not a problem.

And then I had to call the horse vet because my horse was coughing, and it turns out he’s allergic to pollen and fly bites.

So he needs to have shots every week for the next year.

Bottom line, my animals are sensitive.

I wouldn't have it any other way.