She's gone. Must only have been four years old, for fuck sake. Lost her in the early hours of last Tuesday. 8th of January. Completely out of the blue.
Looking back? Dingo Dog had woke me, two mornings on the trot, to the delight of hearing ~ and smelling! ~ him throw up on the floor in here. Lovely!
But, Dogs do this shit. Once in a while, they swallow something they shouldn't. It upsets their guts. They throw it back up. Sorted. I keep a mop and bucket of disinfectant laced water to hand. My floors are concrete.
Then, Rats puked up for a couple of mornings. I thought little of it. le Ding was fine now. I vaguely wondered if she'd ate his puke and was sharing a bug. She was otherwise fine in herself. Behaved exactly as she'd always done. Happy little Dog.
Monday, she refused to eat her meat. Still took it into her space though. Made sure none of the others got near it.
Now, to me? A Dog not wanting its dinner is about the worst sign there is. But, I figured she had bad guts. I've had guts where I couldn't fancy eating for days on end. I never ate yesterday, as it happens. I have absolutely no appetite as I type this. Yet I feel fine.
Tuesday though? 16:30 feed time? Rats looked rough. She was clearly out of sorts.
Now; Vet's have always told me to give a Dog with a 'ticky tummy' three days. Then it's alarm bells. And they only say to feed the Dog rice and chicken anyway. Then hold their hand out for an extortionate fee.
Frankly? A life time of Dogs has taught me vet's do one of two things with my Dogs. Given the oppertunity:
1/ I walk in saying I reckon my Dog's ate something he shouldn't have and it's disagreed with him. Vet looks at the Dog. Agrees with me. Holds their hand out for fifty quid.
2/ I walk in saying I reckon my Dog's sick. Needs help. They say they'll have to put him on a drip. Keep him in over night. And I get to pay £250.00 when I hear my Dog is fucking dead. Having died, alone. In some cage. In the back of a vet's surgery. While they're at home watching Eastenders!
But, still I was thinking who to call for a taxi ride with Rats the next day. It's what overdrafts are for, isn't it?
She drank a good bit of water. Then walked around the room with it simply pouring back out of her, like a tap.
I'd barely mopped that up when I remember she sort of projectile vomited what looked like brown water. I grabbed her and rushed her outside.
Put her on the ground and she walked over to the hedge and lay down beneath it. I dashed back in here and mopped up, again. Then I went out to see her. I knew the score. I told her I'd leave the door open. Should she wish .....
Next day, she was still there. I opened the window and called her. No response. At least, I noticed, nothing had been at her. She still had her eyes in.
I went up and swung the pick and shovel about a bit. But, I just haven't got it in me anymore to dig holes. I hired a local, casual labourer. He asked a tenner. I gave him a score. He did more for her than any fucking vet' would have.
I'm still just wiped out that she's gone. So young. Such a good, happy, loving little Dog.
What the fuck is it all about. Eh?
