Tales of the Tribe: Seven
Sep. 16th, 2009 03:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hwrnmnbsolMy dog Belle, aka Boo-Boo, aka Snookie, and many other names as well, is sick. She has cancer. Specifically, she has mast cell tumors all over her body. She's always been a lumpy dog, but when one lump grew at an alarming rate, we knew something bad was happening. This could kill her, or she could live until she's 20 -- we don't know.
This is very sad. It's also, sometimes, hilarious.
We have four dogs, all geriatric. Belle is actually the youngest of the bunch, and she's over 8, which for a larger dog means she's getting on in years. Belle is also the smallest of our pack, so we house a big, smelly pile of creaky old dogs.
Creaky old dogs need pills. Big old Mojo gets pills to make him less cranky and anxious, which is important because during rainstorms it's about a 50-50 proposition that he will eat a door. I'm not kidding about this. I frequently return home after storms to find Mojo shaking, a pile of splinters on the floor, and THE DOOR TO THE LAUNDRY ROOM IS GONE. The pills help but don't cure this, which means I do a lot of carpentry. Madison has diabetes (and we think Belle probably does too), so we give her something for that daily.
Until recently, there was nothing detectably wrong with Sweet Pea or Belle. However, pilling dogs involves hiding a pill in a treat, and it's not fair to give treats to some dogs and not to others, so everybody gets their 'pill' during a pilling session, whether or not there is actually a pill inside.
For pilling, we use Vienna Sausages. I feel certain that Vienna Sausages were invented for the purpose of pilling dogs, because they're perfect for it, and they're otherwise useless. They're certainly not usable for eating by humans. I made the mistake of trying one once. I thought: this must be what it's like to be a bottom-feeder, eating tasteless sludge off the ocean floor. Only the sludge comes in a tube the size and color of a human thumb. You know, if they're going to bother to make Soylent Green, they could at least make it delicious.
Anyway, we go through a lot of Vienna Sausages. We buy cases of them at Costco. Each can of Vienna Sausages has seven sausages in it, standing on their ends in a shallow pool of chicken broth, six surrounding one in the middle in a fine example of Hexagonal Closest Sausage Packing. When I open a can, the dogs hear the shredding-metal sound and come running. I then have to divide seven sausages among four dogs. It never comes out fair. Usually I short the dogs who aren't actually getting a pill. I also make sure the pill-getters actually swallow their pills before giving anybody seconds, because (I'm not naming names) we have a few pill-spitters in our household, and they Must Be Watched.
When we found out Belle had cancer, we asked the vet what to do. The vet thought it would be a good idea to start Belle on a very new kind of treatment. Technically it's a chemo treatment, but it's administered in pill form. Basically, Belle gets a big bunch of nasty pills. I have to wear gloves to handle them, because they'll apparently make me grow a third arm if I don't. They taste terrible, and I know this because while Belle can and will eat (and enjoy eating) anything, and loves Vienna Sausages especially, she does NOT like to receive her chemo, and she'll spit a chemo pill if I don't basically shove it down her throat.
There are a lot of pills on this treatment. Belle needs her chemo, plus there are various side effects that need to be fought off; she needs pills for indigestion, pills for allergic reaction....suddenly our little Belle, who previously was our healthiest dog, now needs a lot more pills than all the others combined. She isn't acting sick, and she doesn't look sick (although her mama says she looks pale and is losing weight), but she has to shovel down the pills. More pills, in fact, than I can put into Belle's share of a can of seven Vienna Sausages.
So, when I started giving her the chemo, Belle got her own can of sausages in addition to the can that all the other dogs share. Early in the evening I pill all the dogs, and Belle gets her acid-suppressing pill at that time. Then, later on, I'll open a second can (ideally when the other dogs are occupied elsewhere) and give Belle her chemo pills one by one. She gets a lot of sausages this way, but she still hates it, especially when I administer it (I'm pretty mean about stuffing pills back into her pie-hole when she spits them out), so lately her mama's been doing this dirty deed.
The first time I did this, I opened the can of sausages on the counter. Belle sat down and watched me, overjoyed. She knew very well that there weren't any other dogs around. Being on the receiving end of an entire can of Vienna Sausages, I knew, was pretty close to a dog's version of finding a $100 bill on the street. She salivated.
I pulled the first sausage out of the middle, broke it in two, put pills in each half, and stuffed them into Belle's gob. I repeated with the other sausages, working my way around the middle, until the pills were exhausted. Then I popped the remaining sausges into Belle's mouth as well.
As soon as the seventh sausage was deposited, Belle didn't waste any time. She immediately turned tail and walked away. I looked at the empty can, puzzled. How did Belle know that the sausages were gone? She couldn't see on top of the kitchen counter. I hadn't moved in any way to indicate that the ritual had concluded. Yet, Belle knew we were done. She walked away with a finality that said: you're dead to me.
I went into the bedroom. "Hey, baby?" I said. "Did you know your dog can count to seven?"
I explained matters to Bonnie. "I guess now she can graduate from kindergarten!" Bon said brightly.
"I guess now she can start to earn her keep," I growled.
"Don't talk about my Boo-Boo like that," pouted Bonnie, stroking Belle with affection. "She has *cancer*."
I'm going to have to test the theory that Belle can count to seven. I'll feed her six sausages and then wait to see if she knows that she's being shorted. If she attacks me and bites off one of my thumbs, we'll have the answer.
This is very sad. It's also, sometimes, hilarious.
We have four dogs, all geriatric. Belle is actually the youngest of the bunch, and she's over 8, which for a larger dog means she's getting on in years. Belle is also the smallest of our pack, so we house a big, smelly pile of creaky old dogs.
Creaky old dogs need pills. Big old Mojo gets pills to make him less cranky and anxious, which is important because during rainstorms it's about a 50-50 proposition that he will eat a door. I'm not kidding about this. I frequently return home after storms to find Mojo shaking, a pile of splinters on the floor, and THE DOOR TO THE LAUNDRY ROOM IS GONE. The pills help but don't cure this, which means I do a lot of carpentry. Madison has diabetes (and we think Belle probably does too), so we give her something for that daily.
Until recently, there was nothing detectably wrong with Sweet Pea or Belle. However, pilling dogs involves hiding a pill in a treat, and it's not fair to give treats to some dogs and not to others, so everybody gets their 'pill' during a pilling session, whether or not there is actually a pill inside.
For pilling, we use Vienna Sausages. I feel certain that Vienna Sausages were invented for the purpose of pilling dogs, because they're perfect for it, and they're otherwise useless. They're certainly not usable for eating by humans. I made the mistake of trying one once. I thought: this must be what it's like to be a bottom-feeder, eating tasteless sludge off the ocean floor. Only the sludge comes in a tube the size and color of a human thumb. You know, if they're going to bother to make Soylent Green, they could at least make it delicious.
Anyway, we go through a lot of Vienna Sausages. We buy cases of them at Costco. Each can of Vienna Sausages has seven sausages in it, standing on their ends in a shallow pool of chicken broth, six surrounding one in the middle in a fine example of Hexagonal Closest Sausage Packing. When I open a can, the dogs hear the shredding-metal sound and come running. I then have to divide seven sausages among four dogs. It never comes out fair. Usually I short the dogs who aren't actually getting a pill. I also make sure the pill-getters actually swallow their pills before giving anybody seconds, because (I'm not naming names) we have a few pill-spitters in our household, and they Must Be Watched.
When we found out Belle had cancer, we asked the vet what to do. The vet thought it would be a good idea to start Belle on a very new kind of treatment. Technically it's a chemo treatment, but it's administered in pill form. Basically, Belle gets a big bunch of nasty pills. I have to wear gloves to handle them, because they'll apparently make me grow a third arm if I don't. They taste terrible, and I know this because while Belle can and will eat (and enjoy eating) anything, and loves Vienna Sausages especially, she does NOT like to receive her chemo, and she'll spit a chemo pill if I don't basically shove it down her throat.
There are a lot of pills on this treatment. Belle needs her chemo, plus there are various side effects that need to be fought off; she needs pills for indigestion, pills for allergic reaction....suddenly our little Belle, who previously was our healthiest dog, now needs a lot more pills than all the others combined. She isn't acting sick, and she doesn't look sick (although her mama says she looks pale and is losing weight), but she has to shovel down the pills. More pills, in fact, than I can put into Belle's share of a can of seven Vienna Sausages.
So, when I started giving her the chemo, Belle got her own can of sausages in addition to the can that all the other dogs share. Early in the evening I pill all the dogs, and Belle gets her acid-suppressing pill at that time. Then, later on, I'll open a second can (ideally when the other dogs are occupied elsewhere) and give Belle her chemo pills one by one. She gets a lot of sausages this way, but she still hates it, especially when I administer it (I'm pretty mean about stuffing pills back into her pie-hole when she spits them out), so lately her mama's been doing this dirty deed.
The first time I did this, I opened the can of sausages on the counter. Belle sat down and watched me, overjoyed. She knew very well that there weren't any other dogs around. Being on the receiving end of an entire can of Vienna Sausages, I knew, was pretty close to a dog's version of finding a $100 bill on the street. She salivated.
I pulled the first sausage out of the middle, broke it in two, put pills in each half, and stuffed them into Belle's gob. I repeated with the other sausages, working my way around the middle, until the pills were exhausted. Then I popped the remaining sausges into Belle's mouth as well.
As soon as the seventh sausage was deposited, Belle didn't waste any time. She immediately turned tail and walked away. I looked at the empty can, puzzled. How did Belle know that the sausages were gone? She couldn't see on top of the kitchen counter. I hadn't moved in any way to indicate that the ritual had concluded. Yet, Belle knew we were done. She walked away with a finality that said: you're dead to me.
I went into the bedroom. "Hey, baby?" I said. "Did you know your dog can count to seven?"
I explained matters to Bonnie. "I guess now she can graduate from kindergarten!" Bon said brightly.
"I guess now she can start to earn her keep," I growled.
"Don't talk about my Boo-Boo like that," pouted Bonnie, stroking Belle with affection. "She has *cancer*."
I'm going to have to test the theory that Belle can count to seven. I'll feed her six sausages and then wait to see if she knows that she's being shorted. If she attacks me and bites off one of my thumbs, we'll have the answer.
