If my emotions go up and down anymore today, I'm going to bang my head on the ceiling and my backside on the floor.

We had an odd scare last night. While I was taking my shower, I heard a thumping, but thought it was James in the closet. When I was taking my pills I heard it again, and James said it sounded like someone was banging on the side of the house. So he went outside to check, and I snapped on the back yard lights and went out on the porch with the big flashlight to see if someone was skulking around the yard. Neither of us found anything, but it was disconcerting and it took me a long time to get to sleep, with the result that I woke up groggy.

James wanted me to go to World Market to pick up some of the vodka sauce to serve on the shrimp tonight, so I ate breakfast, called up the vet (they were taking another test, and if it came out okay, we could go over before three to pick up Willow!), and went out. As usual, the Christmas Eve maniacs were out in force. I did get the vodka spaghetti sauce and bought James some "CrawTaters" (spicy potato chips) as a treat. Crossed the parking lot to Michael's, bought a holly garland at half price, and used my coupon on some evenweave linen. On a whim I went home via the Vinings Kroger to get a special dessert in case Willow came home and we had to stay with her, another baguette, a couple of greeting cards, and...ta da! they had Davidson eggs! This girl is going to have a real eggnog like her mom made her for breakfast every morning kindergarten through twelfth grade (it was the only way I would voluntarily eat an egg).

(Does it strike you as regressive that in 1963 we could go get our eggs fresh from the farm and eat them raw and never worry, and fifty years later, when the world is supposed to be improved, that we can't eat a fresh egg without worrying about salmonella?)

Had arrived home and was putting things up when the garage door sounded. Yes, things were slow at work again, and James was home. He'd already had lunch, but I ate the rest of the tortellini. About 2:15 the vet called: we could come get Willow if we got there before they closed at three. We were out the door so fast I think Snowy saw a blur.

Naturally, they gave us special food for her and said she had to eat only that. I was game, but didn't realize the problems it would cause. We wrapped her up in a big soft bath towel and brought her home, and she sniffed to make certain everything was where she left it. But all night our efforts to get her to eat the Hill's gastrointestinal food was a flop. I warmed it up. I added water. I tasted it myself in front of her. I put it in an oatmeal bowl. I put it on a plate. She curled her nose and looked sad, and I said, "James, we're losing her," and cried a lot.

About ten, I gave her one of the mini Milk Bones, the plain "white" ones. She ate it, which proves she is hungry. I tried dipping one end of another in the special dog food. She attempted only to eat the other end, and then turned the biscuit over until the dog food fell off it. I looked to heaven and asked, "God, what do I do?"

And then I went to the refrigerator and got the plain chicken and rice James had cooked for her, warmed up a couple of mouthfuls, put the bowl on the floor. She sniffed at it and licked. I squatted down and she licked some off the spoon, took some from my fingers, and almost cleaned out the bowl, and then came looking for more. About an hour later I did give her some more, of which she only ate half, but it was better than nothing. I hope it wasn't a bad decision. I just couldn't bear her looking so hungrily at us anymore, and it was what they recommended originally.

This evening we watched The Homecoming, which is customary for Christmas Eve, and also The Waltons episode "The Best Christmas." Now we are watching midnight Mass from St. Peter's Basilica.

Labels: Christmas, dogs, food, shopping, television

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. . . . . noted and logged by Linda at 11:52:00 PM

Comments:

I'm so glad Willow got to come home. I have found, under most circumstances, that there is an inverse proportion between the vet's insistence that the animal must eat a prescription diet and the animal's willingness to do so. The only known exception is my mother's cat who seems to like her prescription food for hyperthyroidism.

# posted by  FiveAcres : 9:41:00 AM

 

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