Friday, February 11, 2011
Winger has not eaten since yesterday morning, which was Marty's birthday. He was his usual goofy, noisy self yesterday morning.
Now he is listless and did not eat breakfast. He puked up everything that was pretty much in his stomach at some point last night. I had him out of his crate for the night.
So I am totally freaked out but trying to maintain my decorum. I keep imaging the worst, that he is dying or we have to put him to sleep. So I am very teary. Whatever is going on, it is NOT normal.
7:50 am. Can't call the vet's office until 8 pm. Tick-tock. He's laying by the back door. His stomach is making grumbling, gurgling noises; I can hear it from here.
He didn't even perk up when I said "Ball?" That always gets these cattledogs, they love to play ball.
7:55. Tick-tock. Come on, clock. I know time moves forward at what now seems to be an alarming pace (unlike when I was a kid). Right now, it seems to be slow.
Poor baby, something is not right in Winger-ville. And I can't stop tearing up and I am feeling just barely in control. I know (intellectually) that falling into a blubbering mass will not help anyone, certainly not Winger.
Usually he's barking, "Feed me! Hurry up, feed me! Oh, there is someting I must bark at. A sound, a noise, someone came into the room/house/you name it. I must bark at Evil Squirrel! Feed me! Jesse and Elke are playing, I must tell you in every detail about this!"
Not a peep.
It's 8:02 and I just called the vet. he has an appointment at 9:30. I hate waking people up to tell them I need to go. I'm OK in the morning. I'd never call myself a Morning Person BY ANY STRETCH OF THE IMAGINATION but I am surrounded by people who are NOT OK, who are not morning people. Which kind of pisses me off when I am worried or distressed. But that's my thing, I guess.
I guess I'll have to wait and see what's going on at 9:30.