Don’t Read This While Eating | February 2009

 

Anyone want a dog or two? Send me an e-mail from TheHumorlessTwit.Com.

PS: I’m just kidding (no I’m not) (yes I am) (no I’m not) (yes I am)…



One of the issues of fatherhood/parenthood I mentioned in the last issue of Flamenco was one I’ve become a bit of an expert on, even before my wife gives birth to our son: poop.

I’ve been getting even more practice on this, er, issue since then, thanks to Poopmeisters I and II (aka Chili Dog and Gladys, my two rat terrier mixes).

Chili Dog (left) and Gladys, or Poopmeister I and Poopmeister II.

Chili Dog (left) and Gladys, or Poopmeister I and Poopmeister II.

It seems my own recent intestinal problems (again, previously talked about in the last issue of Flamenco) have somehow managed to rub off on the two poopinators.

Especially the little one (see the photo), Chili Dog.

Chili Dog’s had intestinal problems from time to time since I’ve had her. Before her latest bout, she had gone a relatively long time without trouble–about a year and a half; in fact, the last time came just a few days before I got married.

Her tummy troubles–WARNING: stop reading right now if you’re eating–manifest themselves as bloody, projectile diarrhea.

If you think it sounds gross, try coming home to it all over the floor (as my pregnant wife did during this latest round or as I did the time before).

After running with Chili Dog to the emergency veterinarian, my wife called me at work to tell me. It was close to the end of the day anyway, so I left work and met her at the vet’s office.

Just like the last time, it was a bacterial infection. The doctor gave Chili Dog some fluids and ran a few tests on her; his assistant gave me several medications for Chili Dog, some special canned dog food and a bill for nearly $300.

Trying to medicate Chili Dog is as fun as, oh, having a root canal without anesthesia. Those of you with dogs know they quickly learn when you’re about to do something unpleasant to them so they go and hide. Chili Dog’s compact size (about the size of a large chihuahua) gives her many options for hiding.

The vet didn’t make my job any easier, either. The labels on the bottles for the already too small pills I have to give Chili Dog order me to give her “1/4” or “3/4” pill two or three times a day.

1/4? 3/4????? What the heck is that? By the time I finish cutting each pill first into two halves then into quarters, they crumble into white dust and I have to guess how much is a quarter pill. Oh, and did I mention only one of the pills is scored for purportedly “easier” cutting?

The one thing I have going for me is that I normally feed both my dogs dry food, so canned food–even special, medicinal diet canned food–is a treat. So I can hide the pill powder, er, I mean, fragments in a ball of food Chili Dog practically inhales.

The liquid medication isn’t any easier. The vet’s office gave me a needle-free syringe so I can measure the exact amount of medication and then squirt it down Chili Dog’s throat. After that she gets her “treat” of pill powder hidden in a small ball of medicinal dog food.

Then there’s the butt cream I have to spread on her, er, nether regions twice daily…