For a brief, exclusive engagement.
Once upon a time, when the big dogs were alive, we all had a tradition called Snacky Time. Every day at precisely 5 PM or as close as I could arrange, all the boys gathered while I split one large can of dog food four ways. The purpose of this was to give the big old dogs their meds, but they didn’t know that. To the boys, Snacky Time was a sacred rite.
Well, the old dogs died and Snacky Time, which was a rather expensive sacred rite, died with them. But Little Bear’s digestive issues have become chronic, and some neighbors gave me some pills to try. But LB has one trick: He can spit out any pill no matter how you get it into him. Wrap it in cheese: he’ll look offended, eat the cheese and spit out the pill. Shove it down his throat with a pill injector: he’ll vomit it out in your lap if you don’t move fast enough.
But grind it up and mix it with canned dog food, and he’ll happily snork down every last glorious molecule. So, while brooding over the vomit incident, it suddenly dawned on me that there was well over half a case of old canned dog food on a shelf in what is now Landlady’s chicken house, which I saved for just such an occasion and then forgot all about. I loaded it up and brought it to the Lair yesterday. It’s two years past its best-by date, (chuckle) like that’s gonna matter.
So last night I ground up LB’s pills with a wooden dowel, and before I even reached for the can opener I had both dogs’ rapt attention. You think elephants never forget? Faugh. Elephants are amateurs compared to the fond memories Ghost and LB apparently harbor for Snacky Time. They shared half a can, and if LB noticed that his share contained the powder from two ground-up pills he didn’t see fit to complain.
This morning we did it again, and we’ll continue to do it twice a day for a week, and I don’t anticipate any more problems with LB taking his pills like a good boy. The problems might start up when it’s time to stop doing it.
The can. The wonderful caaaaan.
The dog holding the can seems to be giving you a combination look: plaintive, loving look imploring you to continue the practice, combined with enough authoritative attitude suggesting that you don’t fail him again by withholding it…love it!
I’ve had plenty of dogs like that. And then there was Rascal, the half doxie/half dachshund. He LOVED pills. Any kind, or anything that even looked like a pill. Back in the old days, when I had to take such things, I had to be very careful never to drop one… because whatever hit the floor was HIS, and I can’t move fast enough to do anything about it.
So, as he approached his 19th year of life, he had arthritis badly and needed a daily pill. All I had to do was drop it and it was gone. Oh, he’d take it from my fingers with no sweat, but he loved grabbing it off the floor… thinking he was getting away with something. Dang, I miss that dog.
Evelyn covets your hound, Joel.
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