This phrase has taken on new meaning for us.
Over the weekend past, our best beach buddy seemed a bit lethargic. But Big Dog loves his sleep. So, we figured he was needing extra zzzzzz's. Monday morning, he didn't eat his yummy. Huge sign. Then, he declined my invitation to go outdoors, preferring to stay on his bed. He wasn't drinking, either.
Sometime in the afternoon, he joined me poolside, but could not get comfortable. Then… two huge symptoms… he declined a piece of chicken and started to drool, non-stop. Black Russian Terriers do not drool, unless under enormous stress. I sent a picture via my iPhone to Joe. I'll spare you of that. It wasn't pretty. We agreed something was terribly wrong and Joe headed home.
Off to the vet. Thing is, Mambo detests vets, thus the need for Joe to take him. When he starts flinging that huge head, there is no getting near him, let alone opening his mouth. So after several scary thoughts from the doc on what could possibly be wrong, an appointment was made for the next morning. He was to be anesthetized for an exam. Thing is…
About an hour after returning home, he checked out his bowl. We half-filled it, adding an enticing ingredient. He ate at his normal slow pace and then asked for a drink. A long drink. Ten minutes long. He must have been dehydrating. The drooling stopped. He had a great night's sleep and awakened yesterday morning symptom-free. Fetched the newspaper. Ate his yummy. Drank voraciously…
We cancelled the appointment, for the time being. What was it? Will it stay away? Did he inadvertently ingest something alien?
Fingers crossed and little prayers for our buddy's well being… now, we'll make a non-emergency appointment.
