Oh, the joys of dog ownership. Being a K9 parent. Getting to deal with the unpleasantries of an ill animal.
My dog got sick last weekend. Real sick. How do I say this in polite company? Stuff was emerging out of places in ways that stuff should never emerge out of places. Let’s just call it the mother of all upset stomachs. It was bad enough that it landed us in the emergency hospital on a Sunday morning where she needed an IV while my bank account flat-lined.
It was not good. And then, just like that, she was fine and able to go home. Dogs bounce back like super balls, and we’re left broke with a bag of drugs and special food to dispense.
And that’s when the fun really begins. When you find that stuff emerging out of places was the easy part. Paper towels, cleaning spray and cotton stuffed up your nostrils will solve that.
But more challenging was the veterinarian’s discharge orders — a complex web of instructions that was more of a puzzle or an ancient recipe to open an inter-dimensional portal.
There was the special food to feed her every 4-6 hours. Easy, easy. I can do that.
There was the antibiotic, to be given with food every 12 hours with the next dose at the convenient hour of midnight. Um, OK … but got it. Can do.
Then there was a pill — a stomach protectant of sorts. It decreases the absorption of other medicines, so while it must be given every 8-12 hours, it also had to be at least an hour prior to other medicines … and without food.
My head started spinning while trying to work it all out. I read on expecting to see instructions for sacrificing a virgin lamb if the moon was full.
I looked at my hungry, anxious dog. She was sitting on the floor staring at me as if saying, “I could have sworn the guy said, ‘Just give her the hole can.’”
I got out scrap paper. A calculator. A slide rule. A rosary. I tried to plot out times when this wouldn’t clash with that. The resulting chart looked like a plan of war, and no matter how I plotted it, always involved me waking up at 3 a.m.
My dog loves this. She now believes she will be fed at all hours of the day and night. That dollops of cream cheese hiding pills is a new 10 p.m. treat.
Slowly we’re getting back to normal. The plastic containers with white pills are running out. We’re back on regular food, and I’m not waking up at 3 a.m. to distribute meds/dinner anymore.
But it’s going to be tough getting the dog to understand mealtimes no longer come six times a day. Or to stop visiting me in the middle of the night demanding her cream cheese snack.