Bailey's on week three of her seizure med -- phenobarbital. No seizures so far, at least as observed by her circle of human caregivers. But I'll be starting the fundraising drive to keep her in dog food later this week.
All she does is eat. Or beg. Or belch. Or inventory hidden treats.
She's been a finicky eater all her life, rarely even sniffing her morning meal in my presence. Confident food will be there when she wants it, and replaced later in the day if it gets a bit stale-looking. We used to joke that she didn't eat on Sundays because she was fasting in observance of some higher canine power.
On day three of the meds she ate three full meals -- in two hours -- before I got control of myself and decided I should probably learn to ignore the whining. Then she went to the spa (grandma's) for a few days while I put in long hours at the office.
Her grandparents can't stand to see her beg -- they typically roast a chicken or turkey breast as soon as they know she's coming for a visit. So I warned them in advance that they simply couldn't feed her constantly or she'd balloon up to Basset size in no time.
I'm sure it was tough on all three of them. And I'm equally sure grandma came up with a solution by day two; grandpa would simply need to increase the number of walks. Not jaunts to the corner, but around the block and then some, from the usual two a day to three. Or four. Or maybe more.
2 comments:
My mom loves dogs better than people. When I had only dogs, they were the "granddogters." She had pictures of them up.
She always wished she could have them overnight, so she could spoil them. I totally picture making them turkey breast and chicken and stuff.
I can really sympathize here. I had a dog that we thought might be having seizures, and it was frightening. Never quite sure about it with him. But he lived to over 16 in human years. He could eat with the best of them.
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