Two days ago, Booker was (unfortunately) sick as a dog. Which I suppose was better than him being sick as a horse because we would have needed a different vet. He looked even sadder than usual and after Daddy took him for his morning walk he was more interested in sitting in my lap than in breakfast.
Since Booker considers food—especially meal time—to be more exciting than winning the lottery, this was a pretty darn strong indication that All Was Not Right. Meal time typically means doing the Snoopy Supper Dance and spinning around because he just can’t contain all that happiness in one small body. There was no Happy. There wasn’t even any Mildly Interested. Poor puppy. (I’m sparing you all the details. They weren’t pretty.)
We spent most of the day letting sleeping dog lie (as it were). Dad took him to the vet late in the day. She wasn’t particularly concerned, expressed a thought or two that Booker might be suffering from some unspellable disease (which Daddy poo-pooed as barking up the wrong tree), then sent them home with some pills and instructions to feel better. (The pills were for Booker, not Dad, just in case you were confused.)
According to Booker, the pills Taste Bad. Who makes doggy pills that taste bad? However, when you wrap the pill in a little bit of cheese it goes right down. Mary Poppins had it wrong. (Extra points if you get the reference.)
Yesterday, he definitely seemed better. He even wagged his tail a little. Although he was definitely still a bit under the weather and perhaps feeling a little too old to learn a new trick. Today he’s back to working like a dog—at shedding and being his cheerful self. We’re very glad to have the Return of the Real Booker.
I don’t know if every dog will have his day (can you have the Dog Days of Fall?), but the past few certainly haven’t been his. Here’s to better puppy tummies.
Just a spoon full of sugar makes the medicine go down. – M. Poppins