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The Dog Hypochondriac

Do we worry about our dog's health more than our own?


Well, they say admitting you have a problem is the first step, so I guess its time for me to bite the bullet. I am a dog hypochondriac.

My own personal health is fantastic. Of course I could stand to get more exercise, and eat a little healthier, and cut back on smoking, and I could probably get by on a few less glasses of Chardonnay. So, while not particularly attentive to my health, I haven't been to the doctor in years. I rarely even have Advil on hand. I have nothing against doctors and medicine; it just never crosses my mind to use them, and for the most part have little need.

I am the opposite end of the spectrum when it comes to my fur babies. My medicine cabinet is over flowing with fish oil, glucosamine, and generic, bulk, Benadryl. Its all human dietary supplements and medication, but its all consumed by my dogs. They should name a new wing of the vet clinic after us. The entire staff knows my voice on the phone because of the frequency of my calls and visits. Actually though, they are lucky to have me. They better hope Downtown Dogs never takes a turn for the worse. If it does, I'd bring Alta Vet right down with me.

This summer we have made, by my count, seven visits unless I have forgotten something. The first was perfectly legit. I went in for the annual heart worm checks and physicals for all 3 of my dogs. I stocked up on worm and flea preventatives, got titer tests, and to ensure we were in compliance with city codes, got Rabies vaccinations. Seven hundred dollars later we left the clinic. That one visit was more than I've spent on my own health care in 10 years. (Unless you count cigarettes as mental health care.)

Less than 24 hours later, we were back. Riley had sustained a rodent (or possibly very menacing insect) bite to the foot during the night. I can't be sure what happened. He woke me up and had to go out. I opened the door, but at 4:00 AM there is no way I was going out there with him. Heck, he is lucky I hauled my butt out of bed to let him out at all. I didn't notice anything wrong when he came in, but then again I hadn't turned on the lights. (Lest I wake up any more than I already had.) He licked his foot obsessively all night long. But I assumed not letting me sleep after waking me up at 4:00 AM was just to add insult to injury. The next morning his foot was all swollen and mangled. I called the vet and told them it was an emergency and rushed in. It turned out that nothing was broken and after cleaning the bite they sent us on our way.

We lasted almost a week without a visit after that. A few days later Riley's stomach muscles were spasming and he was hunched over with his back arched. He seemed extremely uncomfortable. Since these are symptoms of bloat, a very deadly condition in dogs, we dropped everything and rushed back in to the vet.

It turned out he just had gas.

After the gas incident we again held off nearly a week before returning to the vet with another emergency. This time Cobie ate the entire bottle of Riley's incontinence medication. I had the bottle out to pack as I was getting ready to go out of town. I left the house for an hour and returned to find the bottle itself was ½ consumed and no pills left. I immediately called the vet. "Do you know which one ate it?" She asked. I looked around.

Riley and Ralphie greeted me as usual. Cobie was lying on the floor. He looked like a scared, bloated cat. Every hair on his body was standing on end. His tail was puffed out and his eyes were completely dilated as he looked up at me without getting up.

"It appears to be Cobie." I said.

"Did he eat the bottle too?"

"Uh, yeah."

The vet explained that the side effects of the drug are irritability and hyper activity.

Fabulous.

This was especially great news since we were heading off on a road trip. Who wouldn't want to drive long distances with an irritable, hyper dog hopped up on incontinence medication? At least, I hoped this would limit our potty stops. (I guess I'm lucky he didn't steal the meds and trade them with the other daycare dogs for Rymidal or something)

We stopped at the vets on the way out of town. She fed him some charcoal to prevent absorption of the anti incontinence drugs. She marveled at the way he gobbled the charcoal right down. He damn well better have.

Cobie's pupils were as big as pennies as he, still puffy, busied himself with every behavior he knew in rapid succession. Finish. Heel. Stand. Sit. Shake. Down. Finish. Heel. Stand. Sit. Shake. Down. He went through the sequence three to five times as I paid the bill. The vet recommended postponing my trip but I didn't have time. So, I told her I would and then we got in the car and set out for Milwaukee.

Once on the road Cobie sat wide eyed in his crate. He alternated between stalking imaginary things and sitting contentedly with a happy doggy grin and his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. At the A&W Drive through the cashier offered him a doggy biscuit. He took it gently in his mouth and laid it down in his crate as if to say "I want it, I just can't right now. I'll save it for later." It was the only time I'd ever seen Cobie refuse (or at least not inhale) food. I would later learn that the medication he had overdosed on was none other than the human drug, Dexitrim. I guess that explains a lot.

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