Somebody’s Homesick…

I mentioned in my post last night that I took our weimaraner Dudley to the Veterinary Emergency Room for some uncontrollable vomitting.   Well, not one hour after our return home, he started doing something that I’m not going to describe in too much detail, lest I cause one of my readers to lose their lunch.   We thought he was hemorraging, and I raced him back to the puppy ER (which is 35 minutes from our house, by the way), only to be told that this sort of.. uh.. discharge was the result of some bad tummy bile making its way down poor Dudley’s intestinal tract and eating away at his colon.   He had absolutely no control of what was seeping (and alternately flooding) out of him, and he was miserably ashamed and in pain.

Casey and I slept less than an hour each last night, between getting up and changing his bedding and calming him down.   This morning, Kenny and I took Dudley to our regular vet (who is 45 minutes away), and she admitted him to the Vet Hospital for the day to get him on an IV and keep him clean.     I spent Kenny’s nap time sanitizing various floors in the house where he lost control.   We traipsed back to pick him up at six tonight (and caught in the afterwork traffic, the ride cost us an hour each way), and he is now leashed to the front stairs, lying on an old blanket and whining.   The vet said to expect another 24 to 48 hours of this before it “runs its course” and I shiver to think of what our house may look like by the time he’s better.

While I was making dinner, Kenny, who is Dudley’s biggest fan, tentatively walked over to where he was laying.   “Dudley’s sad,” he said, and the next time I looked up, he had walked over to the bookshelf and gotten down a picture of Dudley as a puppy and laid it next to Dudley’s head.   He caught me watching and said, “Dudley’s pitcher!   Dudley all better!” Then he proceeded to take several other pictures over to Dudley’s head, somehow constructing a little offering to the ill pup.   He wanted to give Dudley a sip of his juice, too, but I had to intervene.

Needless to say, we’ve come to the conclusion that Dudley wasn’t meant to fly the friendly skies.   It seems that all this is a direct result of the “stress of airline travel.”   Guess who’s getting a car ride all the way to Scottsdale next fall…