Here's the peanut butter and pill sandwich I give Desmond every morning.
Maggie, on the other hand, likes to examine everything before she considers consuming it. She eats in tiny bites, and a pill doesn't fall in the realm of yummy for her, even if it's hidden in liver.
I forgot that (blocked is more like it) Maggie's stitched wound on her paw has to be managed. Keep the bandage dry with a plastic bag over her foot every time she goes out. Don't let her run or jump or go up or down stairs. Don't let her lick the bandage.
Most people with dogs know stuff like that is more aspirational than directive. I spent Monday evening making Maggie a great plastic bag thing that tied at the top, and it lasted, oh, about 5 minutes on Tuesday morning before being shredded. Then her bandage was wet and I had to take it off. (oh yeah, and go to work worrying that she was going to lick the wound back open). We got through Wednesday with the wound uncovered before she reopened it and pulled a stitch out while running across the yard Thursday morning. Now, I'm reapplying the bandage about 4 times a day, as she takes it off. I'm trying anti-chew spray to keep her off the bandage while I'm at work. I just want to get a good scab or something on it, so it'll stay closed by itself. She's getting used to being re-bandaged, and I'm getting used to doing it to her. Only 8 more days of this!
On top of that, I have to feed Maggie a pill twice a day. For her, it's a little peanut butter on the pill, shoved far down her throat. Then peanut butter on my finger to get her to lick my finger, accidentally swallowing the pill while she's focusing on my finger.
I've been a little resentful of the time all this managing takes, since I'm also focused on trying to feel better myself from the accident, while worrying about money, frozen pipes in the country, getting the ATV and lawn tractor over here and selling them, getting a possible new(er) car. Oh, and learning my new house. The bathroom I take a shower in was 44 degrees this morning, in the cold part of the house. Last Friday, I made toast and set off a smoke alarm. It's not terrifying unless you realize that one of the smoke alarms is hard wired to something (ie, the fire department comes when the smoke alarm goes off). That's why I was freakily trying to STOP the thing, and why I was so shaky after I ripped it from the wall and realized the one that went off is not the one that's hard wired. Whew.
Now, was there something about some dogs needing attention?
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