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Pet Product News Editorial Blog:

September 27, 2012

Dog (And Human?) Microchips

By Elizabeth Creith


David makes me snort coffee on the computer screen. I'd swear he lies awake at night thinking up ways to do it, except that most of them seem to come spontaneously. Like the last one.

Sky, my Aussie, has a microchip; it was implanted between her shoulder blades when she was just a tiny puppy. It's supposed to make her instantly traceable; that is, if anyone who steals her takes her to the vet and asks the vet to check the microchip.

We have a customer who has also had microchips implanted. The government put one in her head, one in her back, and one in her left ankle. They managed to get all three inserted without her knowledge or permission, then activated them one day and she just collapsed to the ground. They use them to keep track of her, which is just the sneaky sort of thing you'd expect from the government.

Pet microchip
She can tell when they're watching her, because the chip in her head—or her back or her ankle, whichever one they've tuned in to—begins to hurt. We know this is true because she told us.

“It's how they keep tabs on us,” she said. “That's prolly what causes headaches—government microchips.”

“I wish,” David muttered. David gets migraines, and if he thought a microchip was involved and removing it would help, he'd dig it out with a fork.

“Have you thought about going to the doctor about your headaches?” I asked Microchip Lady. This got me a withering look.

“What could a doctor do about it? Doctors don't know nothing about microchips.”

“Well, um—a doctor could take the microchips out, right? And then the government wouldn't be able to keep tabs on you anymore.”

“I bet the doctors have microchips in them, too,” she said. “I bet if they try to take a microchip out of someone the government would give them a headache. They could get a headache in the middle of taking my chip out and accidentally poke their knife right into my brain.”

“I never thought of that,” I said, with absolute truth. She patted my arm.

“You meant well,” she said. “Do you have a microchip?”

“Not that I know of,” I said. “Sky has one, though. It doesn't seem to bother her at all.”

“They can prolly keep track of you through her. Where is it?”

“Well, it started between her shoulder blades, but it slipped a bit and now it's on her left shoulder. You can't even feel it—it just shows up on the vet's scanner.”

Sky came trotting up the store toward me. Microchip Lady shook her head.

“Just look at that poor little thing. She's trotting sideways. Look, she's going over to the left. I bet the government is tracking her on that microchip right now.”

“Don't most dogs trot sideways?” I asked.

“Yeah. That means they've run out of people to put chips in. Now they've started on the dogs,” she said. “You could ask the vet to take it out, but I bet the vet has a chip, too.”

When Microchip Lady had gone, David brought me a coffee.

“You deserve it,” he said. “After listening to all that about chips. From the dip.”

Then he handed me a towel so I could mop the coffee off the computer screen.

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