Last week was a little hairy in the dollhouse, and not in the clumps of shed fur on the floor (a.k.a. “normal) manner. Since Sherman has been recovering from a bite on his leg last week, life has certainly been made more, uh, interesting as we trick him into taking medication, administer hot compresses to his owies, and watch him try with limited success to navigate his world while wearing a humiliating plastic cone.
The first few days were particularly exhausting.
Sherman was originally prescribed three different medications, one in an easy to administer liquid that tastes like doggy joy, apparently, because he licks it right out of the syringe. The other two drugs came in pill form. He’s down to just the liquid and the big orange antibiotic tablets now, and hiding his pills has become a bit of a game around here. First, I tried cheese, which works like a charm because cheddar is a rare treat Sherman accepts gratefully. Sadly, I ran out of cheese before payday and my related grocery run; alternatives were needed immediately. At first, I tried hiding his tablets in hunks of hotdog. Sherman deftly nibbled the meaty jacket and spat the pill (still new and shiny) on the floor, twice. His attitude was very, “Thank you for the processed meat products, but there was something crunchy in the middle. You can have that back.” Pu-tooo!
Next, I turned to that old canine standby: peanut butter. It worked, and his breath smelled like Reese Cups for a bit.
Sherman’s recheck appointment with our lovely veterinarian was on Saturday morning. Thankfully, she gave him gold stars for progress and was glad to see no signs of infection. It seems Sherman was happy about the news, since he wouldn’t stop licking his doctor while she tried to inspect him. His tongue only stopped when it came time to take his temperature, and even that brief pause was caused more by indignant surprise than by doggy angst. With any luck, Sherman’s punctures will be mostly healed in a couple weeks, and the bruising and tenderness should be totally gone a few more weeks after that. I’m very pleased and relieved by his progress, since the initial wounds looked very scary to my dog momma eyes.
I’m supposed to keep doing warm, wet compresses for a little while longer to help with any residual drainage and to help ease Sherman’s swelling and soreness. Truthfully, I felt a little weird about what to do with my very limited selection of washcloths since they’ve all been absorbing dog fluids this week. I don’t want to resort to bleaching everything, and I’m certainly no germophobe, but I had reservations about using a washcloth on my face that had recently been wrapped around the wounded part of a spotted dog, washing machine or not. My bestie Miss Sassy made the most viable suggestion, which required my biggest soup cauldron.
I prefer the term “cauldron” to “stock pot.” I sound so mystical when I’m working with a cauldron, even if it is for the purposes of killing germs.
Despite still being a somewhat groggy doggy on the medications, Sherman is starting to return to normal. His usual exuberance is starting to bust out all over, which means he–and his cone–are back to play and general shenanigans. Sadly, his cone is fairly stiff plastic, and he has been gouging both shins and door frames all week. He also keeps trying to shovel up the cat with his e-collar, which doesn’t go over so well despite Leroy’s near-desperation for puppy cuddles. Generally, Sherm is managing quite well with his cone; he’s learned to maneuver his head over his food and water dishes, and to play with his toys as best he can. I have tried to take the cone off a few times to give him a break, but the moment he can reach his boo-boos with his lizard tongue, he licks like a mad-mutt. For now, the cone stays.
The worst part for a playful dog is the way his cone of shame cuts into his playtime. Sherman’s favourite toy in all the world is his (battered, pathetic) soccer ball. Right now he knocks the ball away from himself half the time with the edge of the cone. Poor guy. He is utterly perplexed as to why he can’t grasp the ball with his teeth as he normally does, which I think is the result of the drugs. Soccer hurts his feelings these days, and the worst part is that he can’t quite understand why.
At any rate, we are well on the mend. Thanks for the good thoughts you have sent our way over the last few days.
The upside to all this, among the obvious that Sherman is healing well, is the side-effect of his medication. He has not emitted a room-clearing fart in a week. Silver linings, no?
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