Sorry for a lack of posts. For the last five days I’ve been stuck in the excruciatingly boring details of getting my Mother’s house ready to list with a realtor, sorting through 57 years of familial detritus stored hap hazardly in Mom’s garage, and making multiple trips to Azusa from my own private remodel hell here in Escondido.
But wait, there’s more. I noticed that my dog was losing weight starting last week when he refused a piece of breakfast bacon. On Sunday afternoon I got Perro ready for a family gathering celebrating Ma Forbes’ 90th birthday. As I put on the dude’s Sunday-go-to dinner vest – a stylish bright green halter that covers his sides and back--I noticed that I had to reef it in two extra notches to make it fit. And then during dinner, I saw Perro decline two tasty pieces of corned beef that seemed to magically make their way to the side of a chair upon which my older borther, St. Chuck, was sitting.
Perro not scarfing table scraps? No way, Jose! “Something’s way wrong her,” I thought.
And then Perro starting puking Monday just before I left to came back to Escondido. I call our vet from my car and the vet says “come in first thing Tuesday morning.”
I do and put Perro on the scale where I discover he’s lost about two pounds. That may not sound like much, but in an 11-pound dog the weight loss is as noticeable as it is alarming.
So I spent all day Tuesday worrying about the dude while he was getting a stem to stern survey by his vet.
I picked Perro up seven hours later and the vet sends home three scrips, none of which he wants to take. The vet also says, try to give him some baby food. If you’re a parent, you;ve experienced the joys of a child that’s determined not to try another spoonful of processed meat food product from a baby food jar. Perro plants his butt on the floor, plays dodge-the spoon with baby food veal product on it and locks his jaws. What do I get for my efforts, disgusting stains on my shirt and pants and a strident “Grrrrrrrrrrrrrr!” from the once mighty Perro.
That was yesterday. Today I got him to eat about a half-bottle of turkey before he realized he was openly cooperating and locked his little jaws shut.
The good news is that I think he’s back on the road to being his normal little jaunty self.
My life, it’s not much, but it keeps me busy.
Meanwhile, I’ mabout four weeks from getting my bedroom back, which will put an end to my life in my den here on my little mountain top in rural northern San Diego County.—Jim Forbes 03/19/2008