I made my way to the living room this morning to find that Slip had redecorated in what we'll call Early Vomitorium. There were large swaths of bile randomly laid out on the hardwood and for his crowning achievement a considerable amount of urine soaked one of the large dog beds. My poor boy. He's looking for comfort wherever he can find it and insists on sitting half on my lap and half on my arm while I write this.
I knew he was under the weather over the weekend but thought it best to see if he'd work through it. He usually does. This latest bout of illness may require a trip to the vet.
Beagle had her trip to the vet last week. She visited our wonderful Dr. Miner who looked and listened and poked and prodded while Beagle did best to wag her tail through the visit. Our girl, it turns out, was hoarding crystals like a New Age housewife. It wasn't my imagination afterall, her ears really did perk up when Enya oozed out of the radio. Other than the struvite discovery, Beagle's visit was unremarkable. I'm crossing my fingers that Slip's visit is as well.
Canine annuals are a bitter pill to swallow financially, especially when dogs are young and healthy. It's when they turn the corner to old age that you've got to keep up with it. They can hide their discomfort so easily. I had no idea that Beags had struvites (which can lead to stones and, worse case scenario, need surgical removal, though there are foods that will dissolve them). And Slip? It's anybody's guess what is going on with him. He's lived with so much discomfort for most of his adult life. We were on a good streak though. He's been relatively free from belly aches for a few years.
For all I know this recent episode of of the urps might have stemmed from a particularly vengeful chicken turd and tomorrow he'll be just fine but the uncertainty remains. Is this the beginning of the end? I don't think it is but I can't get away from that dark shadow of doubt.
The day, I expect, will end well. When I pull into the driveway tonight I will see the dogs stretching and peering anxiously through the window. They will guide me to the front door with nothing but the power of their one-pointed doggie minds, and three working together is more powerful than one. As I unlock the front door, I'll hear shuffling and snorting on the other side. Beagle will greet me with her favorite toy, Baby will stand a tail's length away so she doesn't get repeatedly whapped in the face (smart girl, that one) and Slip will stand precariously on the sofa, tail wagging. They will all mill around my feet and follow close as I put my purse up and turn on the lights. Then they will go out, and come in. They will eat, all three of them at their respective bowls. They will go out again. They will insist on treats and love and I will be powerless to say no. Three are stronger than one. I will be powerless to deny them the simple, simple pleasures of our sweet human-dog bond. And in a perfect world, we will do this again and again for days and weeks and years to come.