Hey, how was your weekend? Do anything exciting?
Mine? Oh, yeah. Mine was great. You know, just doing the regular weekend stuff. Sleeping in. Buying groceries. Poisoning the dog. The usual.
What? Oh, haha. Yeah, kidding. Of course I’m kidding! I would never poison the dog! I mean, not on purpose, or anything. It was an accident.
Well, yes, I did actually do the same thing once before. I just thought it wouldn’t happen again. I mean… I just… LOOK, LICORICE IS OVER IT, WHY AREN’T YOU? Sheesh! Everyone’s a critic!
I’m telling you, it was an ACCIDENT, and I’m perfectly capable of marinating in my own guilt, thankyouverymuch. Hmph.
So, do you remember back when Licorice got really sick from her flea medicine back in March? (Of course you do. You do nothing but sit around and read my blog, memorizing the mundane details of my family’s life. Because that’s not weird or creepy at all.) After that, we switched meds. Because, obviously. Who wants to make their dog miserable every month? Not me!
We switched to a topical flea preventive and, well, that worked exactly not at all. So we went back to the previous med but split the dose in half and gave it with tons of peanut butter and hallelujah—not only did Licorice not get sick, it killed the fleas.
And there was much rejoicing.
But, see, I didn’t realize that apparently she can only tolerate the meds when Mercury is in retrograde, on alternate Thursdays when the moon is full. Or something. Because yesterday—being the first of the month—I whipped out her meds and dutifully cut the pill in half and fed her globs of peanut butter and then gave her half a pill and went on my merry way.
About an hour later, Chickadee asked me why Licorice was in her crate. Licorice prefers to lay around on the floor of my office or under the futon in here, usually, during the day. But she was sitting in her crate, which is a little unusual.
“Licorice, c’mere,” I called. She ignored me. I got down on the floor in front of the crate. “Come on, sweetie! Come!” She was looking right at me but seemed a little… glazed. I patted the floor. And then her little body shuddered and she horked up the contents of her stomach.
I may have used some Bad Words.
We got her outside, where she continued to be sick, and then she did the fall-over-and-refuse-to-move thing, so we carried her in, and she curled up in a little ball and MOANED. LOUDLY.
Have you ever heard a little dog doing the Deep Moan of Agony? It’s really horrible and pathetic.
The good news is that this time I knew what was happening and more or less what to look for and how to handle it; we had some anti-nausea meds left over from the last time this happened, so we cleaned her up and kept her as comfortable as possible and gave her one of those. And yes, it’s an oral med, and yes, SHE THREW THAT UP TOO, and yes, I took the partially-digested pill and stuffed it back down her throat because I didn’t know what else to do.
It finally took and she slept a while and then woke up feeling a little better.
Of course, then we discovered that her muzzle totally smelled like puke and her breath was positively rancid, so then we added insult to injury and subjected her to tooth-brushing AND a bath, two things which I’m guessing fall low on her list of preferred activities. In fact, I’m pretty sure Licorice’s activity preferences list looks something like this:
1) Eat dead things.
2) Chase squirrels.
3) Be petted.
4) Zoom around the house like a puppy on crack.
5) Eat treats.
6) Lick own butt.
139) Have a bath with the foofy-smelling soap.
140) Have teeth brushed.
141) Be stepped on while simultaneously having teeth brushed and taking a bath.
Anyway. She’s fine this morning, which just proved that dogs are extremely resilient, or maybe just a little bit stupid.
Today we’re off to the vet to figure out what to do; medicine that works great and she can sometimes take just fine but sometimes turns her into a fuzzy pile of puketastic misery seems like a high price to pay for flea control. And I’m not just saying that because I spent most of yesterday whispering, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to poison you, baby” into her limp little ears.