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.