Sunday, April 6, 2014

Let Me Count the Chickens

When Moose is prescribed medication, we need only wrap it in a piece of cheese and it is promptly inhaled. Done.

Somewhere along the line, our younger dog, Spike, has transformed himself into Sherlock Westie! He recognizes the sound of the pill packaging as it’s opened. If the temporal lapse between the sound of the packaging and the presentation of food is not sufficiently extended, he will snootily refuse to eat what’s placed in front of him.

If the pill is wrapped in food, he usually manages to somehow ingest the food, without the pill!

The vet suggested inserting the pill in a hot dog. No dice.
We have surrounded it in ground beef. Nothin’ doing.
It’s been wrapped in cheese. Not a chance.
We’ve tried a slice of turkey, a chunk of cold chicken and salami. Nice try.

Having exhausted all other options, my wife gently explains to Spike that the pill must be swallowed. As they continue their heartfelt nose-to-nose exchange (his part is mostly darting eyes and blinks), she ever-so-sweetly but emphatically expresses her exasperation and elaborates on all the different ways we’ve tried to disguise the pill. Once her patience is spent, she pries his mouth open and plants the pill in the back of his throat until he gags and then holds his muzzle shut, until he swallows. Love and devotion only go so far. Still, Susan’s conscience tends to flare with guilt.

Even the ruthless “rear throat plant” option has backfired! Certain the pill had gone down the hatch, Susan has even rewarded Spike for swallowing the pill only to have it tumble conspicuously from his mouth onto the floor after he happily crunches on a treat!

Don’t ask me; I don’t know where he hides it.

The one exception to this exercise in futility is a steaming, hot, pre-cooked chicken from the grocery store! These chickens are not entirely cheap, or, in this case, cheep. 

If Susan places his pill in a small chunk of piping hot chicken, he inhales it! Done. Flowers bloom, bees buzz; life is good. 

So, every now and then, instead of flowers, I bring home a piping hot chicken to profess my love to Susan.

How do I love thee? Let me count the chickens.

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