[Note: This is probably TMI for anyone adverse to bodily functions or the like. You have been warned.]
The other day I posted about Yara’s continuing health issues. Talked with the vet Thursday afternoon and she agreed with my desire to “nip this in the bud” as it were. Since I still have meds from the last time, she suggested putting Yara on a very short course of the Prednisone and then tapering it off with increased allergy medicine. Of course, Yara’s still basically refusing to eat…
At roughly 2:30 a.m. I was startled awake by the sound of gushing water followed shortly thereafter by lapping sounds that were unmistakably Yara.
I leaped out of bed and rushed over to her crate and saw the product of some very explosive and runny diarrhea. And, of course, not only was my lovely companion laying in the mess . . . in an obvious effort to hide what was technically a no-no she was trying to eat it. Don’t you just love dogs?
I suppressed my own desire to make an accident of my own and dragged her straight to the bathroom to rinse her off. Not before she scooted passed me and plopped her mess-covered self on her bed. While she was drying off a bit in the tub — and looking terribly pained by this — I bundled up the blankets from the crate and inspected the necessary cleaning. At first glance it didn’t seem too bad and so I left that chore until after I got Yara outside to potentially empty herself out.
Because she’s Yara, of course, she just stood out there and stared at me like I was a complete moron for taking her outside.
So, back inside I tossed the blankets into the washing machine and set about cleaning off her bed and crate. Yara took the opportunity while I was cleaning her crate to spend some time in the living room vomiting up an entire river of bile and water right by her bed. Seeing a theme here yet? If not, I’m sure you will soon.
Out comes roll number two of paper towels and I busy myself with cleaning up the vomit. Yara’s being super cooperative and won’t get off her bed, which is right in the path of the spreading liquid on the floor. After physically manhandling her away so I can move the bed, she pees on it.
And in the kitchen.
Where she continues to throw up.
And then step in it.
I’m on my last roll of paper towels at this point and moving onto any available rag I can find.
I drag her outside again — along with two rather foul bags of garbage. This time she relieves herself and manages to drag her tail through it while waddling around. This happens shockingly often since her tail is about as long as her entire body.
Back inside she lays down on her bed with messy feet and tail before I can even turn around to shut the front door. This time it takes four tries to call her off the bed — she keeps coming over to me about halfway and then running back to the bed, walking in a circle on it and laying down. Anyway, I rinse her off in the tub again. She’s looking quite morose at this point because, I think, getting sprayed with the shower attachment is akin to being beaten alive.
She’s dry heaving at this point and making a weird clicking/chomping noise with her teeth that I think was her attempt to hold the heaving in? I’m taking this as a good sign, as pathetic as that may seem, because I’ve now run out of rags and am on to clean towels to clean up things. And honestly, at this point I can’t believe she has an ounce of liquid left in her stomach to discharge in either direction. Somewhere in here I cleaned off her bed for a third time, which required basically pulling it out from under her to achieve.
Yara fell asleep soon after I finished cleaning her bed the last time. I plan to try and get her to eat some plain rice later on this morning but I’m not confident she’ll cooperate. Poor thing. All I can say is how happy I am to be living where I do right now. If I were at the Elouise, I’d have little ability to bathe Yara beyond a sponge bath since the tub there was so archaic. Not to mention at this point I’d be looking at at least $10 to do all the laundry that’s accumulated.