I am a man accustomed to various horrors and troubles, but life certainly hadn’t prepared me for this.
My dog Daisy fell ill.
Well, it wasn’t so much that she fell ill… she simply overindulged.
I have no idea where this fifteen-centimetre creature hides an extra six stomachs. She begs for food with an intensity usually reserved for professional orphans and can never seem to feel full. Clearly, we fall for her tactics and feed her generously. Like fools, I swear. Loving fools. Very soft-hearted.
How can one not feel sorry? She has those big eyes like in that song my father brought back from his expedition to Mongolia, which he would sing to me as a lullaby, lamenting, “I sat and wept bitterly, for I ate little and (forgive me) soiled myself much.”
Every time she looks at me, it feels like it might be the last. How could I resist giving her a piece of mango or a tiny fish?
Thank goodness she doesn’t drink. I can’t imagine how we would cope with that.
So, there she went again, gorging herself and suddenly becoming gravely ill. One moment she was a joyful puppy, and the next, she was a dying swan—her neck twisted, as if we should play something from Saint-Saëns. We scrambled to help her. Searching for ticks. Taking her temperature. The thermometer finally gave up as well. She rolled her eyes, said her goodbyes, and lay down to die.
We called a cab. Traffic. Tears of farewell. The best vet in the entire universe.
When she was healthy and annoying us with her insatiable appetite, I often thought, “Why in the world did I get involved in this pet ownership, what a cursed decision, I should just take her back to the shelter and be done with it; she’s consumed my soul!” But, as she lay there dying, it turned to: “My little darling, how will I manage without you?”
We arrived. The vet uttered the sacred words: “Cold, hunger, and peace!” A day without food or water, then slowly reintroducing both, while injecting her with something potent and, yes, the thermometer again found its its unfortunate place.
He calmed us somewhat and sent us on our way.
An hour after the injections, the little creature started to perk up, Saint-Saëns fell silent, and that same insatiable spark returned to her eyes. Food! Water! Give me something! I feel like I’m dying, you rascals!
The floor where her bowls used to be was licked clean as a whistle. She rummaged under the table, finding a stray lid and chased it around the house until morning, hoping something edible would be tossed her way.
But no. We were firm.
The real horror struck when we remembered we also had a cat at home who needed food and water too.
Goodness… The door, which we held together firmly while the cat ate, trembled as if a battering ram were smashing against it on the other side where our little dog was. But we held our ground with all our might.
We spent the night in dread and anxiety since Daisy, with her uncoordinated paws, tried three times to break into the fridge.
She whined and groaned from exertion so much that we doubted her health ten times over. Eventually, this poor creature settled on the floor right in front of my head and hypnotized me with her reproachful stare until six in the morning, not allowing me a moment of sleep.
In the morning, I decided that the whole family would forgo meals until we got the all-clear from the vet because even the sight of a cup of coffee made Daisy leap up, practically to my partner’s face level. Not mine, sadly. Illya is already 192 centimetres tall, and he has a lot of life ahead of him…
By lunchtime, I capitulated and stealthily tiptoed to the fridge. Silently, with one powerful motion, I opened a can of peas and scooped out a spoonful, but my hand trembled, and two peas fell onto my slipper before they could reach my mouth.
Good heavens… I nearly lost my foot… Good grief… That little insatiable beast sucked up those peas along with the fluffy pom-pom that once adorned my house shoes…
And waiting ahead was still a week of dietary exercise.
I truly don’t know how we’re going to live or where to run. I’m writing from the bathroom, locked in. If you hear anything, do not remember me with malice.
I fear that my body will last her three days at most.
And then? It’s frightening to think…
