On A Wing And A Prayer

The morning after Skater and I arrived back in Illinois, I woke up to find that Skater had not only resumed having watery stools, but had also been vomiting all night. The only vet I knew was the one whose name was on Skater's rabies certificate and, at 7:00 AM, on a very cold, snowy morning, I made a very panicky call. The vet agreed to meet and, a half an hour later, my dog's life was in the hands of a virtual stranger. After a thorough examination, the vet expressed deep concern for Skater's condition and prognosis and, for the first time, I had to acknowledge that I might very well lose my dog. Aside from the terrible fear that Skater might not survive, a million thoughts were running through my head. This was NOT a high-tech veterinary clinic but, rather, a typical country practice. How on earth was this man going to figure out what was wrong with my dog in order to save him?

Simple blood and enzyme tests revealed that Skater's liver had suffered damage and was not functioning as it should; he was immediately put on different antibiotics as well as a prescription diet. I'll get back into the medical history next time but, for now, have to comment on the diet.

Skater, who had NEVER voluntarily missed a meal in his eight plus years, was NOT going to eat what was in those prescription bags and cans. Day after day, he turned his nose up at the food and we would end up having a food fight. My trying to force-feed him only resulted in my wearing most of the food. After a few days of this nonsense, I couldn't stand "torturing" Skater any further; it was awful to watch an animal who had always had such joy in heating become one who felt he was being punished by being fed. So, I called the company who manufactures the prescription food and told them I needed some sort of recipe that I could cook for my dog; that he would not eat their prepared diet. I spent a rather bizarre hour on the phone with a rocket-scientist (NOT!), who, when I asked her what type of "animal fat" she wanted me to use (after she said it was essential ingredient), proclaimed, "from a dead animal". I am not the most tolerant person and, when stressed, what little tolerance I do have goes straight in the toilet. I told her I hadn't intended to walk out into a field of grazing cattle with a machete and slice off a day's worth of fat ... and asked if she could POSSIBLY give me a genus or species ... something. We finally agreed on poultry. With the help of an old friend, a diet was devised for Skater that he not only was willing to eat but actually went back to enjoying his food.

As always, he was patient, waiting for me to figure out what he already knew. There are always alternatives; you simply have to be aware enough to look for them.