By: Revanche

Old and tottery

November 21, 2006

That’s my dog. 17 years old, running on momentum and some last wheezes of grumpiness. And he’s keeping me up ’cause he’s swelled right up under his left eye and refused to eat dinner tonight. Now, this is a dog who expects dinner, on the floor, 6pm sharp, every night. He’s the doggy William H. Macy a la Pleasantville! “Where’s my dinner??” he sniffs, every night. “These humans,” he would think, “they’re just untrainable. It’s time for dinner!!”

This little guy would eat mid-earthquake if one tried to interrupt his dinnertime. He used to stress eat, hiding in the cupboard from fireworks. We used to joke that his tubby butt could use a break from eating after he’d had his dental cleanings, but his tubby butt is now 17 years old, and possibly, probably, fighting an infection of some sort. It’s not a dire rush-out-to-the-vet-right-now emergency, but momma’s having a sleepless night fussing about him. I hope he’s better in the morning, but I’m staying home from work to take him to the vet.

He wouldn’t eat tonight. And I can’t do anything until morning.

Edit: had to edit a couple of words that made it sound like I wasn’t taking him to the vet if he looked better. I think my fingers were just running on there. He doesn’t get off that easily!