The Benadryl Battle

 

Ny allergy queen

Sophie is sick again—or still sick. I hardly know which to say. Her tummy troubles seem gone, but her snorting, snuffling, whatever the sound, is still with us bigtime. I worry about describing it to the vet, and sometimes I want to say it sounds like a horse blowing. Or maybe she’s trying to clear her throat as a lot of us do in allergy season in Texas. And sometimes, when she’s not making all those noises but lying peacefully on the floor, you can hear a rattle as she breathes. I was really tempted today to ask the vet if dogs can get pneumonia. It stands to reason they can, but he keeps reassuring me it’s allergies.

Last night she began hawking, honking, whatever you want to call it at three in the morning. Poor thing was absolutely miserable. I gave her water, talked soothingly to her, massaged her throat. Nothing happened—except both of us lost sleep. I did get to doze a bit but it was not real sleep. I let her out and fed her about six-thirty, but she, who was ravenous last night, refused her food. About seven, I got in one of those funny hours—I dreamt but I knew I was dreaming. And in the back of my mind was the thought that she wouldn’t eat.

Relief, of course, comes from Benadryl. But I defy you to get a pill into that dog. She is far smarter than we poor humans. She has fished the pill out of the canned dog food she adores, pieces of Velveeta, spoonfuls of cottage cheese. This morning, in what I thought was a fit of brilliance, I pulverized two pills and mixed into the wet canned food she now loves. No go, one sniff and she wouldn’t go near it. She smelled the medicine. Tonight I gave her straight dog food and kibble, and she ignored it—but a couple of hours later she ate every bite.

Asking me about her behavior is sort of an exercise in futility. She’s an older dog, so she sleeps a lot during the day. I would say she was normal today, chasing a few squirrels, overjoyed when Zenaida came to clean the cottage, but tonight Jordan said, “She’s clearly not herself.” So there I went into panic mode again. Praying for good sleep tonight.

Other than Sophie worries, there’s always the larger problems of Ukraine and Russian aggression and worldwide moves toward autocracy—or in our country, the unraveling insurrection and worries about midterms and horrible disinformation—no, Joe biden is not senile; no, he is not in control of gas prices or inflation—and so it goes. In Texas, if you’re inclined to worry, I give you Abbott’s latest threat to declare an invasion at the border and the ongoing media blitz supportong the right. I am so disgusted with the Fort Worth Star-Telegram I am about to quit with a noisy flourish—but Fort Worth is my home, and I want to read my hometown paper. But it offends me they have a community board for conservative voices but not the same for liberals.

Closer to home, things look good. I have been finishing the first pass edits of Finding Florence and doing considerable rewriting, filling in plot holes, finding new scenes I think will improve it. I am so wrapped in that world that when a friend told me she was switching winter clothes for summer, I corrected—she meant putting away summer for winter. When she wrote back and said, no, she meant exactly what she said, she was getting out summer clothes, I realized that it is near winter in the book and I was still in the world of my fiction. Yes, in Texas, it is spring, although unusually cool. I could get spoiled to that.

Last night, out of the blue, I said to Jordan, “I want some Mexican food.” She laughed and said, “How did you know I just pulled up the menu from Enchiladas Olé!” I ordered a chalupa with ground beef—it came with all the good stuff, except the ground beef. I was bummed, but tonight everyone is gone, so I had my favorite: a salmon croquette and a big blue cheese salad. We’ve had such a busy week, we haven’t had many family meals in the cottage, and I hope we can get back to that.

Life is good. Pray for peace and love, not hate, here and abroad.

Celebrating a couple of grandsons – and bemoaning my allergies

 

Here’s my oldest grandson, Sawyer, just turned seventeen, with his new car. Pretty fancy wheels for a kid, but not at all what he wanted at first. A chance encounter led to a great bargain on the car. The previous owner wanted to trade for Sawyer’s dad’s Jeep. Dad was not interested—they were standing in a take-out line at a restaurant—but the guy really wanted to sell or trade this Mercedes. So, they investigated, found it a real bargain compared to what they thought they’d spend on a car for Sawyer, and now he has a Mercedes. I haven’t had a chance to ask him, but I suspect he thought of it at first as a stodgy old-man’s car. Now, he apparently likes it, and his mom, my Megan, says she loves having him driving because he’ll willingly go on errands for her.

I’m really proud of Sawyer this summer anyway. He’s our music kid—studies with Austin School of Rock (guitar and vocals) and plays in a garage band that does well. When this kid found guitar, he really found himself. Now he’s taking an online course in music production and hopes to intern with an Austin producer for part of the summer. I love it when kids find their focus.

And here’s a grinning Jacob, in the car after being picked up from a ten-day camping experience. Jordan and Jacob picked him up in Van in East Texas, but he actually camped in Colorado—a long bus ride away. (Jacob is the one who described it as long and other, less happy terms). He thoroughly enjoyed it, he says, met new friends, played poker (this is what he went to a church camp for?), etc. But no golf, and Jacob is the golfer in the family. He got home last night and spent most of today on a golf course so he could get the “feel” of it—he plays in a tournament in Dallas tomorrow. Another kid whose found his focus.

I wouldn’t want my other two grandsons to feel slighted—Ford, in Austin, and Kegan, in Tomball, are both sports minded and exceedingly good at their chosen sports, but more about them another time. The Tomball Alters are in New York City right now, and the Austin folks will go to Belize to scuba dive next week. Love my family’s travel adventures, as long as I can enjoy them vicariously.

Meanwhile I’m sitting at home nursing allergies—at least that’s what I think it is. I never was allergic to anything until I was in my fifties. One day I felt so awful I dragged myself to the doctor, who cheerfully announced I was suffering from allergies. I was indignant and demanded, “What am I allergic to?” His reply? “Texas.”

Well I guess there’s something in our Texas air the last couple of days because it sure has gotten me in the late afternoon and early evening. My nose runs like the proverbial faucet, my throat is dry, I cough a lot, and I am so sleepy I can’t stand it—and a bit sick to my stomach. Yuck. But by 9:30 or 10:00 I’m back to normal and all is well. I hope this is something fleeting.

I attended a Zoom neighborhood meeting tonight and learned a lesson: when you cough, the camera focuses on you because it apparently doesn’t distinguish between a cough and speech. I quickly muted the audio, but I’m sure my neighbors loved the picture of me with my ever-present Kleenex.

I’m at loose ends, never a good place for me to be. Waiting on a couple of editors to respond to a proposal; waiting on someone else to come back from vacation so I can get access to a file; waiting on a new book to come out in September; waiting to figure out how to edit my new Wikipedia page (more about that another time). I need a new project and am weighing several ideas—a collection of significant blogs, with some gourmet blogs thrown in--do I flatter myself that any are significant?; a new cookbook, though I need a theme—maybe plagiarized recipes (no, I don’t really mean that); reviewing a couple of false starts on mysteries. I recently, inadvertently did some editing and realized how much I like that—shades of my former life. But I have no clients.

Tomorrow I plan to do one of those pro and con list of my options—and to do some serious meal planning for the family, somehow fitting family meals into increasingly busy schedules—Christian’s work is busy, Jordan’s business is rapidly picking up as people begin to travel again, and Jacob has all those golf commitments. I was spoiled during quarantine—they were here every night for supper.

I think I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop—it will, and it will be the right thing. I just don’t know when or what.

Sweet dream, everyone!

 

Pinkeye, allergies, and essential oils

Calm, non-scratching Sophie

What a day. I woke feeling draggy and wanting nothing more than to go back to bed. My left eye was funny--puffy eyelid, puffy below the eye, and it kept tearing. I kept running to the mirror to check it's progress and color compared to the other eye. Self diagnosis: pink eye. I cancelled physical therapy and lunch plans and alerted my daughter, who said she wasn't coming near me and to be sure to call the doctor. Though she did begin the conversation with, "How does a 76-year-old woman get pinkeye?" Darned if I know!
As the morning progressed, both me and the eye began to feel better. More running to the mirror. By lunchtime I thought it looked pretty good, but friend Subie came by, shared lunch with me, and said both eyes were a bit swollen. I wanted to tell her she should have seen them at six-thirty in the morning. Over the phone, my doctor's nurse and I decided it was allergies.
After a nap, both eyes looked normal. Jordan and Jacob came for happy hour, though he declined to spend the night as was planned. Golf camp wore him out.
Meanwhile, Sophie was having itch problems. She had them a week or so ago and I thought they got better, but tonight she was rubbing her back on the underside of the coffee table. Again, it had been a phone diagnosis: allergies. I read that the very wet weather we've been having caused a lot of dogs to itch, and I sparingly gave her Benadryl.
Jordan wanted to try lavender oil on her (she's convinced Young Life Essential Oils are miracle cures for everything). She emailed to find out what to do. I had envisioned her trying to get the oil through Sophie's thick coat on the spot that apparently itched. Not so. She was to put two drops on a hind paw.
That took a bit of doing. When she got her oil kit out, Sophie began to look leery (as she does when we put flea and heartworm medicine on her back). Jordan finally hauled her into her lap, where Sophie looked very ungainly and awkward, but Jord loved on her and quieted her. Then Jacob put two drops of oil in Jordan's
palm and she rubbed it on the bottom of Sophie's back paw. Sophie stayed in her lap and enjoyed good loving for a long time.
And you know what? It worked. She didn't scratch again at all, and she was much calmer than usual. I think I'll put lavender oil on the bottom of my foot tonight.
Four to six inches of rain due tomorrow--the tail end of Hurricane Bill. Flood watches and all that accompanies these heavy rains. Meantime, tonight, I'm watching a bird on a dead branch at the very top of my tall elm tree--rain doesn't bother him. He's preening and surveying his world. So far away I can't tell what kind of bird, but I like him.