Well, I have survived the craziness but my dog nearly hasn’t. Sick little bugger, he is a 12 yr old beagle with Pancreatitis and cannot eat any fat at all. For the last five years he has been on a pretty strict diet and the few times he has managed to eat fatty products he usually throws up. Not this time. After the Hell day on Sunday, when I had the cast of thousands, the dog managed to get into the rubbish bin where he ate all of the yummy left overs: the fat from the pork, the custard, and many other bits and pieces lethal to an old, stupid, senile, greedy beagle.
The following day was an interesting one. Unable to get comfortable, he wandered in and outside all day, even though he is not allowed inside. He got up, he lay down. Then, last night, he became completely confused and couldn’t move. We were to take him for a little walk, but he barely made it out the front door. It was night time, and I thought perhaps he was confused about that, but it was something worse. I could feel it. He was swaying, his eyes were glazed over. He had thrown up during the day, but now he refused to eat. He was not in a good way.
So, today, it’s off in the car to the vet. I had to carry him to the car. That was something! So, three days before we go to Melbourne, the dog is at the vet’s, possibly dying, with an IV drip and opiates, and an odd mass in his belly. Typical that he has to do this in the most expensive month of our year. Typical.