Tell me I’m doing the math wrong….please! This simply can’t be right!
So M’jihito has taken off for a road trip across the country with his lifelong pal, who lives in Pennsylvania and has come down with a very probably terminal cancer. This is Dear Pal’s “bucket trip,” they say: a road trip from his home in PA, across the country, through the Midwest, over the Rockies, into California, and back.
M’jihito left his ancient golden retriever, Charley, with me, to be babysat until he gets back.
Charley has some painful health problems. One of them is bad joints — hips, shoulder, probably back. He’s pretty well crippled up.
I can empathize, because now that I’m old, I’m enjoying the same phenomena. And I’ll tellya: the hips hurt so much I can hardly stand upright.
But the most bothersome of his ailments, where the human is concerned, is vomiting. He barfs several times a day.
So Charley takes a turn for the worse. After consulting with M’jito, I call his veterinarian.
Over the phone, they urge me to buy a drug called “Cerenia,” which they assure me will ease his barfing. It’s available at a site called Chewy.
Yea,verily, here ’tis.
Can I possibly be understanding this correctly? $21 for four tablets. Plus another $20 for shipping.
Studying the ad…apparently that is correct.
What. An. Incredible. Rip-off!!!
Who the hell can afford something like that?
The veterinary in question is located in an upscale area — basically in Scottsdale. Certainly close enough to north Scottsdale to serve those tony regions.
Guess rich people don’t care if they’re ripped off.
Over to Amazon to see what a search for “Cerenia” brings up over there.
First though, we stop at Drugs.com. The stuff is marketed for dogs only, not for use in humans. This would mean, I expect, that it hasn’t been fully tested. Apparently it’s intended for use as a motion-sickness drug.
Charley is not suffering from motion sickness. Now, an anti-nausea drug might help him…but if his human goes bankrupt, the upshot will not be desirable.
Amazon doesn’t carry it at all, unless there’s a generic name for the drug I’m not finding. Search for Cerenia brings up this stuff. It’s a homeopathic nostrum. Fifteen bucks. Does not contain Maropitant Citrate…which probably means it doesn’t contain much of anything.
I forget that my son wants me to feed this dog EIGHT TIMES A DAY. It’s after 3:00 and he’s only been fed twice. Dish up a quarter-cup of kibble. Offer it up.
REJECTO!
He refuses to eat it.
Ruby tries to grab it — she eats half the dishful before I trot back into the room and catch her in the act.
He may be hunger-barfing, then. Because I’m not feeding him enough. Because my memory is shot and I just plain don’t remember to drop everything and wrestle with yet another feeding. (Eight dog-food wrestling matches a day!)
Ruby is sneaking back up on the dish as we scribble…figures if she loops around the back, she can close in from behind and grab the chow. 😀
F*ck this!
I’m gonna try some canned food. Otherwise the dog is gonna starve. No wonder he barfs all the time!
****
WOW!!!
And HOLY MACKEREL!
Topped the dog-repelling kibble with a spoonful of canned mushy dog food, and voilà! He scarfed it right down!
Let’s see what happens next. Give it an hour, and then if he hasn’t woofed it up by then, I’ll heave out into the rush-hour traffic (wheee!!), drive on down to AJ’s, and buy some more of that stuff.
uh HUH!
Gut instinct, borne of heaven knows how many dawgs that have ordered me around over the decades, tells me that he’s hunger-barfing.
He’s not barfing because something is wrong with his digestive system. Or with any other system.
No, indeed.
He’s hunger-barfing: woofing-up because there’s not enough food in his gut. Dogs do that. It’s part of being a dog.
It’s not gonna hurt anything for my larder to stock a few cans of dog food. Ruby can eat it, if we find that it’s truly not good for Charley.
But…he’s flopped down on his mat and gone to sleep. The frantic panting has stopped.
Well…no…it just started up again. That’s a sign of pain, or of overheating. In this unholy summer weather, then, it could be either one. It’s overcast, humid, and hotter than Hell outside. Not that hot in the house, though, so probably the panting indicates the former variety of discomfort.
Matter of fact, I think I’m gonna go right now, before the rush-hour traffic seriously ramps up. He’s not barfing. And…well, I hope that if he does barf he’ll leave enough sign that I’ll spot it. He tends to lap it back up, which is why I want to sit here and see what happens.
Hmmmm, no. We have plenty of canned food for tonight and tomorrow.
Tomorrow morning I have to drive to the Mayo, a gawdawful long haul. There’s a HUGE Fry’s right on the way home. Dollars to donuts they’ll have this stuff. And if they don’t, I can swing down to the AJ’s — out of the way, but the 10:00 a.m. appointment will keep me out of the rush hour.
Minutes and minutes have gone by.
He’s dozed off.
NO BARFING!
Dayum!
What that is telling me is that what’s been making him barf is that expensive kibble.
Back awake: huffing and puffing again.
My theory (such as it is!) is that he hyperventilates because he’s in pain. We know his hips are bad. So they probably hurt — mine sure has hell do.
So…what if the frantic panting is not from gut pain or upset, but from something else: hip pain? What if he’s barfing because of the stuff we’ve been feeding him — largely expensive kibble — and not from some pathological condition?
Great theory, ain’t it?
But I kinda doubt it.
