I always vowed I'd never become one of those people who talks constantly about his dog. As much as I love mine, I've tried to avoid the pet-as-baby model, which is anthropomorphizing.
But Sherman the Wonder Dog has predominated our past week. You see, after announcing that he had made the sudden switch to wet food after a lifetime of dry, Sherman emptied the contents of his stomach and went on a hunger strike.
I have enough experience with animals to know that refusing to eat is usually a sign that they've given up on life. But, with the exception of his chronic congestion brought on by his heart murmur, Sherman seemed otherwise engaged. Alert. Present.
I won't bore you with the medical details, but suffice it to say that after several anorexic days (and another pound lost--a big deal when you're only nine pounds to begin with), the vet was able to medicate his congestion. Which stimulated his appetite.
But the only thing he would eat was sweet bell peppers. Not exactly a weight gainer.
On a whim, I tried feeding him a piece of scrambled egg, which he devoured. Two days later, he's still compulsively eating them. It's too soon to tell, but they may actually save his life. Of course, the metaphor is irresistible--the egg being a symbol of birth and new life.
But for us, Sherman was already that symbol. The reason we got him thirteen years ago was because Floyd was sick and needed comfort. (As you can see, they sleep together still.) Having a puppy helped save Floyd's life. That's why we call him Sherman the Wonder Dog.
It feels good to repay the favor.
Oh, and today's New Thing? My mother informed me I could scramble his eggs in the microwave. I had no idea you could do that.
Good thing, too. Because I'm going to be cooking a lot of eggs.