The package contained my own personal bowel cancer test kit. Beautiful. How to remind me very rapidly that I am getting rather long in the tooth and now require the government to monitor my pooh. I always suspected that pollies were full of sticky brown stuff - my belief had simply been confirmed.
With those happy thoughts floating around in my brain, our day commenced. The Beagle had been under the weather since the previous evening, refusing her dinner and looking suitably miserable. She had engaged in several spectacular heaves, which had sounded horrendous but produced little else. She trotted outside into the chill morning sun, attempting to have a go at number twos. With complete failure. Now I was worried. Bodily functions were making an unreasonable impact on my mind and I wasn't even properly awake yet.
We set out for the Gallery with Ruby in tow. We placed her bed near the fire and hoped she'd sleep off whatever ailed her. By three o'clock, she was no better and Michael was uneasy. Ruby was his final link with his previous life and although he didn't have entirely positive memories of the past, he was not prepared for her demise. Packing her up in the ever-faithful Kermit, they drove off towards Midland and The Vet.
They were away four hours. Blood tests showed no pancreatitis (very nasty). The vet Nikita was familiar with Beagles - she owned one and recognised that a non-eating Ruby was quite serious. But she could not really pinpoint what was the matter with Ruby either. With antibiotics and acid reducing tablets and two hundred and seventy odd dollars poorer, they returned to the House that Rocks. Our instructions were to watch her for signs of possible bowel obstruction. Oh goody.
Today Ruby had continued her merry dance as a little witch. One minute she is having a fit of the vapours, the next she is absconding out the door of the Gallery. She has eaten two small meals of cooked chicken mince with extreme gusto and then slept for the rest of the day, reclining piteously on her day bed. She is even more reluctant to move her stocky little body than usual. She let rip with a blast of flatulence that made Michael's eyes water and rendered the dining room a biological wasteland. Ye Gods.
Her latest exploits have been to swan dive into the kitchen bin when our backs were turned and to relish a few tasty morsels she found on the back lawn when Michael took her out for a wee break. She looked positively confused when he ordered her to stop and led her back into the warmth of the house.
We continue to hope that she has only consumed something particularly ghastly that has not agreed with her stomach, cast iron though it may be. Ruby unwell is even more of a rollercoaster ride than Ruby well. We are getting too old for these shenanigans.
Wish us luck.
Say hello to the Problem Child.
Ruby on an energetic day.
Ruby unwell.
Visiting the vet has not been entirely satisfactory...
Self explanatory title!
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