A not so ordinary day in the life of a boater
I didn’t move. Maybe I was dreaming. I do have strange and vivid dreams. But the soft tinkle of an ID tag rubbing against a rabies tag and joined by a dog license tag reaffirmed my worst fears. Next came the furious scratching as rear right paw met right ear and the motion set the whole mess jingling loudly.
I reached for my watch and glasses. Yup, at my age, even if my watch lights up at the press of a nifty little button, I still need my glasses.
1:11 am
Surely, surely not. Well, maybe it’s a little mess and can wait to be cleaned at a decent hour.
I leaned down, picked up the dog, and placed him on his pillow at my feet. I turned so I faced away from the door and the unwholesome odor and fell back asleep.
3:15 am
Dog is back on floor and scratching on both ears, alternating as fast as his little paws can go. This time there’s no ignoring the smell but the love of my life sleeps through all of this like a well-fed baby.
I step carefully into the galley area. Kitchen for you landlubbers. The boat is fully carpeted, so I know a royal and shitty mess awaits
Although I malign the poodle in the brains department, there’s one thing that amazes me. If he needs to go when all of us are asleep, he goes to the bathroom and the tiled floor. At home, he gets into the walk-in shower.
But we are on the boat. A fully-carpeted boat. And tidy freak me closes the bathroom doors as it gives space and looks better
And one more point in his defense, I’m feeling kind at present, he has an iffy tummy. He lives on a special, and time-consuming diet, and when things start to go south, his tummy warns me, and I immediately start a course of “stop the shit at first poop.”
This time there was no warning. So, what was the poor dog to do? He went right in front of the closed bathroom door. On the pale green carpet
I picked up and scraped and wiped and got out the nifty carpet cleaner which is a godsend, and scrubbed and scrubbed and mopped the excess liquid.
He sat watching me. Round black eyes signaling his discomfort, apology, and love. I picked him up, hugged him, I know he can’t help it.
I got out one of those “stop the poop in mid-poop” pills, wrapped it in a small lick of cream cheese, and offered it to him.
Yup, I know, cream cheese, right? But he will take anything I offer him if wrapped in cream cheese and that’s preferable to shoving it down his throat with him fighting me all the way.
He’s getting worse as he ages. His vet recommended Fortiflora or Proviable-dc in his food. A friend suggested yogurt, but I decided to go with the vet’s advice and ordered the Fortiflora. It comes in little sachets.
But there’s nothing to indicate the dosage or whether I should empty the whole thing into his food! So, I did.
Tomorrow will be another phone call to his vet. Nine hundred miles away.
Why? Not only did he barf right in front of the bed when he first jumped down, but we have runny poops again. This time on the bathroom floor as the fairies that take care of dog mothers told me to leave the door wedged open.
I’m waiting for a call from my vet back home.
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