A few days ago, Pat and Jai both became suddenly ill. Pat was apparently very sick, wobbly and visibly distressed. Jai just seemed lethargic, which for a dog who shoots electricity from her tail, is noteworthy.
Kelsey took Pat's temperature for me because I look like a conductor wielding an ass baton when it comes to that sort of thing; I just stood there, sort of waving it around the tail region and grimmacing, beer in one hand, tortilla chip and thermometer in the other….looking for divine intervention. The hand of God to guide me into the Pat's clenched anus. Kelsey took the thermometer from me and did the thing. 105.3. Normally a shitty radio station that plays hits from the mid-big hair and pleather '80s, now an even MORE alarming thing.
I rushed Pat to an emergency clinic.
By the time I got Pat to the clinic, Jai wasn't eating and we knew that she, also, had a high temperature, thanks to Kelsey's enthusiasm with a thermometer, or 'Anal Probe' as people in the midwest call it.
"We don't know that these two things are connected," the useless whore vet told me, "I think we need to do DNA testing and confirm both dogs genetics back to primordial ooze. Then I'll take an MRI of the ooze and bill you for whatever happened before, during, and after the ice age seperately."
I might be paraphrasing. I hated her, though, and her ass face. She patronized me, barely controlling her eyeroll everytime I spoke. She hummed through most of what I said,
"Yes, yes…Tests. We need many many many expensive tests. I have a long night ahead of me and so far only cats to spay and an old dog whose teeth need whitening. My technician can do that. Do not bore me with your details… We will call you with the final talley for my summer vacation costs sometime much later than you think reasonable…"
And so it was. Xrays revealed that, indeed, Pat has a liver and kidneys and ribs, all where they should be. Daylight revealed that no fucking way was I leaving him there for their morning "specialist" to apply leeches and a good bleeding.
The medical diagnosis – FUO – (Fever of Unknown Origin) came after Pat spent 16 hours on antibiotic and fluid replacement IV and was subjected to every test the bored night staff could dream up. In the end, it cost me as much as I paid for my MacBook pro, and I used my MacBook pro to confirm how useless the information really was. They gave me a magnet with the office name and a frowny cartoon dog with my receipt.
That was yesterday.
Today, Jai is better; Pat no longer has a fever, but he is 'depressed' and won't eat. Viral is the bottom line consensus of the people whom I respect for free, plus my vet via txting. (She's great and doesn't charge per word!..but sadly doesn't work after 9 at night – she has "a family" …)
No gastronomic distress; no vomiting, no diarrhea. Just loss of apetite and a fever.
Pat isn't as sick as he was day one, but he looks at food sadly, as if to say,
"In some cultures this is vomit, only not as good."
My dogs and I run in the desert. Many miles per week, nearly every day. Sometimes they drink from questionable water sources. This is my best hunch for origin. (or 'O'). No other dogs in our pretty large circle have contracted this, not yet anyway.
The only thing I can think of to do next is have his teeth whitened.
Hope you are feeling much better by now!
Hope you are ALL feeling much better by now!
Glad they are both on the mend, frightening.
I share your hate for emergency vets. And they always want to take them to the back room, out of sight. “You can just sit here and wait and we will come back 4h later and tell you how much it will cost to not kill your bellowed friend. You can read all about our payment options in this pamphlet” Hrmp, sorry about the rant, hope they are back to their normal shit rolling self soon.
This morning Pat rolled in the yard until he was covered and came back in dispersing debris as he serpentined through the living room, kitchen…wagging. He hasn’t done this morning ritual since before last Saturday. He also ate breakfast. He apologetically cringed at my attempt to kiss his large handsome head, instead of sadly acquiescing. He is BACK.
Yeah, Jorgen, there are way more bad doctors then good ones, of any type. I am always deeply suspicious and doubtful. I’ve forked over wheelbarrows of cash to more than one glorified groomer. More than one Dr. Barbie. I mean both the vacuous plastic blonde with a dream house AND the butcher of Leon.
I might be exaggerating.
I don’t actually OWN a wheelbarrow.
Glad Pat is out rolling in disgusting shit!