But when the rain goes away, the sun comes out to play. Or more correctly, it comes out to suck up all the moisture in the whole city. It turns a little game of fetch into a proper Alberta-style dust up!
I’m not complaining! I love the heat and the sun. I’m not a cold weather kinda gal.
Tweed doesn’t seem to mind it much either. In fact, he looks pretty darn happy to me!
Today, as a change of pace, we went to Spanish Banks Dog Beach instead of our usual haunts. Except I need to learn to read the tidal maps or something, because when we got there, the ocean had vanished.
It was miles away, being all coy and flirty. All it left behind were wide expanses of sand with piddly puddles of water here and there. Oh and the sand was covered with a mixture of what appeared to be cement, crazy glue and sticky rice water.
Sport, who does not go IN water, and generally takes offense to the pushy nature of the tide at Kits Beach, felt this was just peachy, thanks.
^^ Ole Dirty Legs.
As I was inappropriately shod for cement/rice water/glue surfaces, my sneakers now look like Sport’s legs. Harumph.
The Three Amigos didn’t care – ocean, oatmeal, mountain … as long as there’s a Chuck-It and a Wootie Toy to be manipulated, by doG they will fetch.
Sport, much like me with boys-on-bikes, really likes to watch.
After some hardcore fetching, Sport led the way back to the car.
After we stopped for a moment to rest …
… and to shake off some mud …
… and reflect on the day’s outing.
On the way home, we stopped in at the vet so Sport could get a check up. He’s not really improving; still has no appetite, is not gaining weight … generally, I am underwhelmed with his progress, or lack thereof. So we stopped in to see Dr. Shaw and get his opinion.
Sport was not at all happy to be at the clinic.
“Why, Food Lady? Why would you do this to me?”
The staff at the clinic, as people do everywhere*, fell in love with Sport. Upon hearing that he refuses all food, they undertook a mission to try and feed him essentially everything remotely edible in the hospital.
* “people everywhere” does not include the owners of dogs that Sport bites at the beach.
This cat, who’s name I forget, was in HEAVEN. Because everything Sport did not eat (which was, literally, everything), kitty did!
Dr. Shaw was not too impressed with Sporty either! Sport’s complete lack of muscle mass is a very real concern, especially given how much food I have been forcing into his old, starving body. We discovered two abscessed teeth in his mouth, but his heart murmur is so severe and overall body condition so poor that nobody wants to put him under to remove them. The teeth could be causing him quite a bit of pain, as is his evident arthritis. And so Sport is caught in the mightiest of Catch-22s – he could get better if we could fix him, but he’s too sick to be fixed. Poor guy.
Armed with an arsenal of antibiotics for his abscessed teeth, and Metacam for his poor old bones, we mutually agreed upon a deadline for Sport – two weeks. The antibiotics and pain killers should help him feel better long enough to regain appetite. Even if they don’t, the sheer amount of food I cram into him every day should result in some significant improvement in his overall body condition and weight. If this does not happen over the next two weeks, Sporty will take that last long walk, and I’ll hold him while he goes. It may be that Sport is just too sick to be well ever again.
So root for him, blog readers. Sport needs your good thoughts, juju and prayers. If you can’t wish him better, then wish him an easy passing. He is a grand old dog and it’s no fun to watch him suffer.
Look! Dogs masquerading as real sheepdogs!
And OMG, how cute is this face?
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