I had a bit of a scare with the dog today. All seems well now but, yesterday, Jack had attended the vet with his usual Jack Russell confidence (march in, full of bravado, through the automatic doors, realise where we are, about-face - and run straight back out!) He was given something for every orifice, but emerged victorious and immunized for yet another year, having put a smile on the vets' and the receptionists' faces with his winning charm.
Today we visited an elderly friend, who always looks forward to Jack's enthusiastic visits. She asked if she could feed him, but I explained that she really didn't need to open a fresh pack of treats just for Jack. As she gave him a bowl of water, I noticed Jack crunching away on something he'd found in the corner. Then I noticed a long, white tablet lying on the floor, near the kitchen cupboards, and Jack about to devour it. Now, Jack is known to be impossible to get medication into - even chocolate flavoured ones! - but if he thinks it's a forgotten lolly, he'll suddenly treat it very differently.
While I was able to retrieve the stray pill just in time, I really had no idea if Jack had already consumed one. And if he had, there was no way to know which of my friend's many medications had gone down the hatch. I spent several worrisome hours, fully expecting Jack's heart rate to increase, or decrease, noticeably. Should I keep Jack quiet (Ha! Fat chance!), I asked myself, or should I try to run it out of his system? And did I really want to spend more at the vet in the one weekend?
Thankfully, it must have been a corner of dropped toast that Jack had found. Whew! And we were soon back to the important things in life, such as hunting for lizards and barking at cats.
Sunday's mystery number: 99, dammit.
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