Saturday, 24 September 2011

Faithful hound

Summer-yellow rape
streaking on the horizon - 
lifting dank spirits

Dusty is rallying. Whether it's the steroids or apricot kernels that are working their magic, she looks slender-necked and youthful again. Watched over her as if she were a newborn baby yesterday evening, monitoring every shallow inbreath and short puffy outbreath. At bedtime, nothing will keep her from her dutiful place at Lily's bedside. I try coaxing, even manually pushing, her into the bathroom downstairs, but she's having none of it. I decide the strain on her vital organs of resisting being shut up downstairs is probably greater than that of battling up the stairs.

This morning, I take her two breakfasts in bed. The first, two capsules of Vetmedin and seven crushed apricot kernels in a ball of dogfood. Half an hour later, one and a half Vivitonin in another ball of dogfood. Half an hour later, she rises and comes downstairs (via the rusty Eliza Stannah) for her full English breakfast with a sprinkling of steroids and antibiotics. Touch wood and fingers crossed, she seems quite perky. Walking. Trotting. Rolling on her bone.

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