raybear: (Default)
Oops, missed yesterday’s 300 words. Not because I was doing anything particularly exciting, just a marathon of In Treatment episodes and playing phone tag with the vet. I dropped her off this morning with the head vet, he is doing an ultrasound, he has ideas of the cause (and therefore the solution), I appreciated his confidence, it brought me some relief.

I brought back a giant plastic tub from my parents’ house back in March, a few choice items from my childhood, including an old book “The Trouble with Tuck” which was a favorite of mine, partly because the girl on the cover kinda looked like me, except she had a dog and I didn’t (but wanted one). Rereading it as an adult (I haven’t revisited many of personal YA classics) it is a little painful in the awkward writing. However, I recall thinking the same thing when reading it at age 8 – a great story, I liked the action, but the tone was obviously an adult trying to sound like a girl, I could see through the narrator even then, and this memory made me laugh, slightly proud, also made me seriously wish that books were allowed to be remade in the same way that movies are, because I could do this book much better justice. I guess maybe they are. I read the author’s note and apparently most of the book is based on a real-life situation anyway, so I think I’m having envy that this dude wrote it first back in 1981, I could do a much better job of the same story now. Anyway, the story is about a girl and her dog, and the dog is of course perfect in being both a dog and in being well-behaved, it loves its freedom and it loves people, it wanders through the neighborhood and always comes home and sleeps in her bed, it is a perfectly shaped yellow lab, it saved the young girls life, both from drowning in the pool and from some attempted molestor in the park (in other words, all things statistically unlikely and therefore setting up unreasonable expectations for children everywhere about dog ownership), but the dog goes blind and so the precocious young girl finds a retired companion dog for the blind and trains it to lead her dog Tuck. The end. It’s a short book, I read 70 pages in one brief sitting, I’m going to read the last 30 now after typing this, but I’m pretty sure I remember how it ends – with a successfully march through the neighborhood, the two dogs, the helper dog leading the blind dog, and her behind them, whistling “The Bridge over River Kwai”.

Also, sidenote to [livejournal.com profile] limenal who maybe hardly reads lj anymore, but the book refers to puppies as sausages and it made me so happy, this is perhaps even the origin for me.

I’m going out for lunch today, which is a good thing, to be out of the house and distract myself. Also, I will be eating at Edna’s with [livejournal.com profile] mintwaster, [livejournal.com profile] unscrambled, and IRX, and that’s pretty much a dream-team combo on all fronts.
raybear: (Default)
I took Sophie to the vet today, she hasn’t been feeling well for almost 2 weeks, though its been mild enough to not seem critical until now. Yesterday I could see she’s visibly lost weigh, I can see ribs poking through and I thought back and couldn’t remember the last time she’d ate more than a biscuit or a few bites of canned food from her dish. Two days, maybe more. This morning I was woken up at 3 am by her yacking up bile, which has happened before when she’s been on hunger strike (usually stress induced) and in the past, I will feed her and she will eat immediately and then all is well. Today I made food that was 2/3 canned, 1/3 dry, which is a dog’s dream generally, and she ignored it. After getting off the phone with the vet, I poured myself a bowl of cereal and apiece fell on the floor and she sniffed it and ignored it. I was so glad to be getting a professional opinion and prescription drugs.

The exam didn’t yield any immediate answer, her energy has only been dampered, but she’s not lethargic or obviously hurting in anyway. They ran tests, I sat in the waiting room for 20 minutes waiting for them to get done, which means Sophie finally relaxed a little (“I guess this is how we live now”) and settled down onto the ground, in hunting dog repose (upright, but full belly pressed on the floor, head on the ground between the paws) while the vet sat on the couch next to me and talked about the abnormal blood test results that might indicate a problem with the liver. He was reasonable and not inflammatory, but still concerned. He laid out a couple options, let me pick one and supported me in it (treat the symptoms with antibiotics and antacids right away to get her eating again, come back in a week and draw blood again and perform a “bile test”). He said words like x-ray and ultrasound and “mass” on liver and I looked down at her by my feet and thought, no, not this year, not 2009, the year of Raymond’s grief, this is not the time, Sophie, for these such shenanigans. I blinked back the beginning of panic and misty-eyes and finished listening to him.

I came home and had to force feed the three tablets, even with peanut butter, but she was fairly amenable to being compelled to swallow. She rested for awhile, the vet stresses her out because its also where she gets boarded occasionally, I could tell she was relieved to be back home, stretched out on the futon. I worked on the computer for awhile, then boiled some chicken. She ate half of it, quickly, easily, so I fed her the other half and now I feel ok. She’s eaten. She will be ok.

May 2010

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