Ruh roh.
You know that sixth sense that parents have? The one that leads them to sit up in bed fifteen years after their son or daughter’s moved out of the house? I’m starting to develop that with the dogs.
Woke up this morning at 5:30. Henry had been sleeping up in the bed with me because he hadn’t been feeling good and he’s not insistent enough if he’s in the kennel. He wasn’t next to me, but his spot was still warm. I heard his nails pacing back and forth on the wood laminate in the kitchen, so I let him out.
But something still wasn’t right. I couldn’t put a finger on it. I didn’t smell anything, I didn’t hear anything, and with a glance back over my shoulder out the door I saw that he picked the first spot he could find to poop in… par for the course when he’s not feeling good.
I walked into the living room, and in the corner of the house the farthest from the bedroom, he had pooped on the floor. No problem, got a rag and some bleach/lysol cleanup spray. Wait, what’s that? Oh, that’s blood. That’s not good! Using a paper towel and a spare medication container from the recycling bin (Hey, there’s times when it’s GOOD to be a packrat!) I scooped up a sample including some blood and immediately refrigerated it.
The diagnosis is post-surgical stress-induced colitis, and the prescription is a day’s fast followed by a couple days of sensitive tummy science diet, and a week’s run of Metronidazole just to be sure. I’m so lucky to have a vet (Boonville Animal Hospital in Bryan TX) that’s understanding when you page them at 6am and whose doctors can remember enough of your pet’s case history to be able to help you without forcing you to go to the 24 hour emergency clinic. It turned out that Dr. Glade was about to head into the clinic anyway to check on some cases when his pager went off, so I met him there. He ended up not needing the fecal since the diagnosis was pretty clear but appreciated that I’d taken it.
Poor Henry. He’s probably been in a lot of pain from the neuter, but he hasn’t let one ounce of it show.