As I predicted, Dawg has been on the short leash since the great fall. My wife wasn’t happy with the short leash that I use, so I bought another. It’s really the same leash with a different cover, but she’s happy now. (As my uncle Julius used to say, “Every cook has to piss in the soup to make it taste right.” Uncle Julius drank a lot, you know.)
So far, neither of us have had any further trouble with Dawg since we went to the “shorty”. It’s not that he hasn’t tried to bolt, it’s that he can’t get any momentum going. So there’s hope that we’ve got that problem under control.
Dawg had his annual check-up recently. There was a new, young vet at the clinic, and, as is my custom, I picked his brain about Dawg’s vomiting problem. He suggested a drug that might help. It’s not too expensive, and it’s been around forever without showing any side-effects, so I’m going to try it. It strengthens the ring of muscle at the top of the stomach so that acid and stuff doesn’t slosh back up into the esophagus so easily. Slowly but surely, we’re working our way through the pharmacy. Eventually we’ll either find something that helps or run out of stuff to try.
The drug’s for a disease that Dawg doesn’t have, so we’re treating the symptom rather than the problem. (Of course, we’d treat the problem if anyone could figure out what that is.) Still, if it improves his life, it’s worth it. How can you not do everything in your power to make a friend feel better?