I know what you mean, Fuzzy. Wasn't it Hamish that was born on your kilt or gave birth on it?
My Lucy is starting to get grey, and it makes me sad. She's such a good dawg that I feel like she doesn't deserve it. But then again, she was saved from death's door when she was about 4. She acquired some sort of weird auto-immune disease, and if it were not for the vets at the Cornell animal hospital, she would not have made it through. Worse, her original owner, a rich surgeon, was going to put her down at age 1 because she needed hip surgery.
Funny thing is, the animal hospital and vet are her favorite places in the world, despite explorative surgery and lots of shots. She has to go back for regular checkups, and she gets all nutty as soon as we get close to the hospital. While she's in the waiting room, she gets bonkers each time someone with a lab coat comes out: "My Turn! My Turn! Please!" (Third year students work as interns, and they bring the animals back to the exam rooms.) When she's in the exam room, she can't wait to go into the back area where they do blood draws. Labs!
But while I'm on the subject of vets, no dog beats Trueman, my ex-sweetie's dawg (see page 1). When it was time for him to go into the exam room, he would run at full speed and leap onto the exam table. How he didn't go sliding off was a mystery.