A Brilliant Day
Not.
WARNING
The following contains descriptions of a graphic canine nature which may distress the sensitive.
It started last night: Chaos was relentlessly restless, pacing the floor like a caged lion or a hellhound who thinks his sofa time has been unwarrantably curtailed.* He did not want to go out, he did not, he did not, why did I keep asking him? And then he did. Oh my. Oh frelling (*&^%$£”+=~@!!!!!!
I still haven’t told you, I think, that the magic wand that was waved over the hellhounds’ digestion a couple of months ago now is that–after over £1000 of vet bills, lab fees, antibiotic injections, etc, and almost two and a half years of chronic diarrhea–I put them on a no-cereal-grain diet. Pet food, as many of you know, is a scandal, and most of the good ones are rice-based–certainly the overwhelming majority of the whole-food, additive-free kibble is. I had tried elimination diets before, of course, but I’d never eliminated all cereal grains at once. There are two immediately intriguing facts about the hellhounds’ and my situation: the first is that cereal allergies among dogs is common enough that there are a variety of proprietary brands of no-cereal kibble/mixer/biscuit out there: a limited variety, but I’m interested that they exist at all. And anyone who writes in to tell me primly that Dogs Did Not Evolve to Eat Grain** will be banned to CoRoT-Exo-7b *** Yes. I know. See above: Most pet food is a scandal. And my new non-organic cereal-free kibble costs twice as much as their old organic rice-based kibble did. And still does, for luckier dog owners than me. There are immediate practical concerns as well as evolutionary purity to consider.
The second intriguing fact is that not one of the six or eight vets I’ve seen in the last two and half years ever said anything to me about food allergies. They all checked that I was feeding the patients reasonable dog food, and that box having been ticked, there was an end to it. I did mention having taken them off beef and wheat, both of which are dead common (dog) allergens and both of which made my guys itch, and this was accepted as sound and sensible . . . but the conversation(s) never went any farther in that direction. I have at least one friend who says she suggested trying them on no-cereal but I don’t remember it: if so, my bad. But you develop a siege mentality after a while . . . and what the hell was I paying all these vets for? The last conversation I had with a vet about it was in December. This was after the Pills for Persistent Gut Disaster of Unknown Origin which, he said, would (almost) certainly work, but the hellhounds would have to be on them for the rest of their lives–which as a card-carrying crunchy-granola-head I did not take as good news–had stopped working after ten days. He said: we’re at the end of our resources, and I’ll find a specialist for you to try next. Meanwhile, starve them for twenty four hours and then give them a little chicken and rice.
Well. Fast-forward to now. We’ve had occasional, uh, breakthroughs, but nothing that has lasted more than a single great slushy squirt,† and you have to figure that after two and a half years, it’s going to take a while before things settle down and stabilise. But last night was followed by this morning . . . note that it’s even more disgusting cleaning up diarrhea in half-trampled slush than it is on bare courtyard . . . which was Very Bad News. I took them out for some kind of a walk anyway–mere intestinal mayhem rarely slows Chaos down–and after another looooovely burst of unique personal exudation . . . he started bleeding from the anus. Oh gods. So with half my mind I’m thinking okay, wait, he’s not haemorrhaging, it’s just a little bright red blood, it’s probably just a little blood vessel that’s broken as a result of whatever this latest inflammation is, and with the other half of my mind I’m going, My dog is bleeding out his ass!
We turned around, went back to the car–pausing every twenty or fifty feet for Chaos to hump up and drip a little more–and I drove straight to the vets’ surgery. They have open clinics twice a day, but there’s often a vet around. I didn’t think this was quite an emergency, but I’d be grateful for a little professional expertise, preferably sooner rather than later, even professional expertise that hasn’t always done so well on the subject of anal effluvia. Chaos, by this time, was quite gory down his rear end, so at least I wasn’t presenting as a hysterical female.
The vet agreed with my diagnosis, confirmed that (as usual) Chaos looked remarkably well for a dog behaving as he was, and sent us away with these therapeutic boluses like small nuclear warheads. Dogs are supposed to experience them as treats. Don’t make me laugh.
We went home and collapsed. Or I did, and hellhounds were happy to assist. Chaos has brightened up and calmed down, to the extent that Chaos is ever calm, over the rest of the day and now, this evening, he’s crashed out as a hellhound should be while the hellgoddess is eating restorative Green and Black’s and writing a blog entry.††
And you know what I think caused Chaos’ chaos? Another brand of whole-food, additive-free no-cereal kibble. Isn’t that cute? Isn’t that special? Isn’t that delightful? Arrrrrgh. I’m always pathetically looking for ways to encourage them to eat more, and beluga caviar and lark’s tongues are beyond my budget. Well. Scratch this experiment. The dogs at the local rescue are going to get fat on my discards.
I want laughter! I want adorableness! I need these things! Providentially Jodi sent me this†††:
http://ihasahotdog.com/2009/02/04/funny-dog-pictures-overz-this-right/
I’d caption it You’re kidding, right? –I have puppy gates on either end of the cottage kitchen kind of the way you put up shoji screens: as suggestions. This is one of those inexplicable aspects of the mysterious hellhound character however: they certainly could jump over them, but they don’t. Or maybe I’m deluding myself. But I’ve seen no signs that they’re jumping over them and exploring, say, the sitting-room/jungle. Except of course occasionally when I’m on the wrong side of one–and I wonder why that would be?–and doing something ignobly provocative like tying my shoes in preparation for taking them for a hurtle. Chaos once memorably soared over the one by the front door and landed on my shoe-tying bent back, and teetered there like a circus elephant on a stool. . . .
B_twin_1 sent me this one. And this is just pure unfettered Dying of Cute. And I would like some sleep tonight. A smile on my face is optional, but it would be nice.
http://icanhascheezburger.com/2009/02/02/funny-pictures-licks-me-i-dare-ya/
* * *
*One of the many lesser crimes of the ME is training the hellhounds to believe that a couple of hours a day on the sofa is a right, like food, shelter, petting, and being yelled at.
** Neither did humans, you know
*** http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2009/02/090203110324.htm
† Including the result of a frantic attack of snow eating the first day of the beautiful white fluffy stuff
†† And I’ll save my visit to Third House and what has gone wrong next for some other entry. I said it was a brilliant day.
††† Diane in MN, are you there?
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