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Reflections…Week Twelve

IMG_0167I sat down to write this weeks reflections last night, there before me a blank area on the screen waiting to be filled, behind my eyes, another blank area waiting to be filled.  Nothing came to the fore, no subject nor idea. For five minutes an empty mind sat before an empty screen.

Then I went and made a cup of tea, the very British way of dealing with a problem.

I came back to the screen, still had nothing, switched it off and did something else.

Procrastination is a skill I utilise well, but this was not one of those times, I did not know what to write about, I could not recall what went on in the week before. So I have left it till today to write a day later than I like to have it done, so I can proof read it usually, but still within the parameters of my personal challenge for the year.

I wish I could say that the week was that uneventful it was boringly slow, alas Spot made it not so. Last Saturday her usual morning constitutional had failed to materialise leaving  her stomach bloated, she also has not eaten, nor drank since Friday night. When I saw what looked like blood from her bum it sent me in a panic.

Spot has been the cornerstone to my mental health recovery, more than anyone in my family can imagine, we have had a strong bond ever since I had to resuscitate her when she was born, now she is my barometer for mood and clown to raise it up. She gives a good cuddle as well, but I think it is to get a better view over my shoulder out of the window. Her snoring by my left ear has even sent me to sleep before.

So off to the vets I go with a very mardy dog.

 (Mardy: Slang for mopey, feeling sorry for oneself, looking for sympathy)

She was given an injection to help with the pain and that was it, an appointment was made for the next day. Between the two visits Spot consumed quite a lot of chicken and rice, how this went in with an already bloated stomach I have no Idea, all there was to show for it was the smallest poop going, she still refused to drink, the only water going into her at this time is what I squirt into her mouth via syringe. I swear I have seen rats poop bigger! Off we go to the vets again, the painkiller seems to have worn off now.

Nothing, I could have gotten to the vets too early for them to tell or she has eaten something to cause a blockage, but that small poop meant that she has the chance to deliver it naturally out of her system herself. Her bloated stomach means the vet cannot feel anything to boot. But she is more hydrated today than yesterday. Off to home with syringes of painkiller, three a day.

The first string was awkward but manageable. The smell from the liquid reminded me of the dentist painkiller and what I tasted from the smell alone, it was awful. Each String got harder to give her even though I got better at delivering the dose in one hit. The last one she had to have had reached a point that although she came over to me when I got down onto the floor as soon as my hand went toward her, she’d bolt off, “I’m not having any more of that!”

Around the kitchen she’d run as I tried to catch, not cowering up against a wall run, rather a I will wag my tail and do the I want to play position, before I run inches from your fingertips kinda run.

I caught her, put her between my legs, so I can hold her mouth open with one hand and do the syringe with the other, and I squirt, Spot shoots backwards between my legs shaking her head whilst giving me the ‘I’m disgusted with you right now’ look. She comes over to me anyway when called, puts her paws on my chest bringing her nose up to mine, and then belches the foul medication smell directly at me, gets down and goes to bed. In some way I felt I deserved that.

Spot so far is doing well, movements are moving and her playful self is once again present. Fingers crossed it remains this way now she’s back onto her normal food, not the rice and chicken.








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