Here is a photo taken of Brady on Tuesday, March 3rd, 2010. As you can see, he's smiling and the reason he's so gleeful is that he no longer has the runs!
Sadly, dear Readers, our heroic puppy friend was suffering from a touch of "irritable bowel syndrome". It started Saturday night 'round midnight, which is a rotten time to find oneself in a crate with a rumbling little tummy 'bout to go unhinged.
Brady did what any self-respecting doodle would do. He yipped, or, sort of bark-yelped.
Since he's always silent as a bleached sheepskin the whole night, it was rawther unusual to hear him make any sound a t'all, so imagine my surprise!
I entered the kitchen where Brady was beside himself looking as though he were ready to bust a gasket. As soon as I unlatched his crate, he went bolting, nearly airborne toward the door to go ow-ow-owooot.
Now, normally I would go out the door first to remind Brady who the leadah 'o' da pack was, but, Readers, there was no time, due to the nature of his rush, you see.
Out he flew onto the deck, down the stairs, to the grass, fast, fast, fast!
Then, poor Brady hightailed it back up the steps to the door, shivering a bit from the freezing rain that was coming down.
It was then that I sensed twas time to boil the white rice.
Like clockwork, he was up every 2 hours calling out for a "bathroom break". By morning, I was wracking my brain trying to figure out what he'd eaten the night before. Was it the Iam's puppy biscuit I gave to him when I tucked him in? Did something drop on the floor during dinner? Was it the dried leaf he munched from the plant in our friends' home which we visited the evening before?
The next day, I bought a box of instant rice packets and a pound of lean hamburger. I boiled them and made a lovely melange which Brady gobbled up appreciatively in about 30 seconds flat. So, I made him another, and another....until it was time to take him out and examine his "product" again. Sadly, it was a shapeless mound, not at all the happy, compact log I was praying for. Oh, dear.
A friend warned it would take 2 days, so I must continue to boil the rice and burger.
That night, Brady woke up, again at midnight and then at 2 am, same drill. At 4 am, I heard a whine and charged to the kitchen. Only this time, it was Sophie.
Alas, the old gal has osteoarthritis in her hips. Though she'd had her prescription meds after dinner (for the joints, you know), it seemed it was not enough.
Isn't it the sandwich generation that cares for the young and the elderly at the same time? So, that would make me a sandwich- a very tired, soggy sandwich by 4:30 am when Sophie was walking in circles. I gave her a second pill lovingly wrapped in a bit of meat.
Within a half-hour, she was asleep in her crate. I trotted off to bed, aching with fatigue.
Next day, I took Brady to the vet for his last set of shots. Since he had the runs, Dr. Shephard said she couldn't give him his boosters.
Despair. Now, he'd have to wait another week to go hiking in the woods and socialize with strange dogs-
She did give him a pill that would nuke any parasites that might've taken up residence in his little system.
We trotted over to the front desk where I stood in line to pay the bill and Brady promptly mosied over to the black rubber Welcome mat and squatted.
He laid down an impressive pile of logs that were only slightly runny while a lithe woman in tight, designer jeans stood next to me, agog. She was buying pricey bags of cat food and announcing curtly that while my puppy was adorable, his brown "bomb" certainly wasn't.
"He better get house trained soon," she sniffed.
But I was celebrating the fact that the rice concoction finally worked.
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