Guinness and the TPLO – Part III

The night of day three I got all his pills in him with the pill gun. He hated me for about a 1/2 hour, but he needed his meds dammit. I slept on the couch this time to let Lauren get some sleep. To be painfully accurate, I didn’t actually sleep so much as lay there for eight hours. At least he wasn’t lonely.

The next morning I think he figured out a way to scoop his tongue back into his throat and pull the pills out. What’s worse, every time he did that, he ruined three expensive antibiotic capsules. I think I need a horse pill gun. This would have been easier if they’d just given me a needle and syringe.

Halfway through day five he got up and walked out the door and into the yard by himself. We had seen him get up on his own once before when he was motivated. This day’s motivator was pooping time, and he was determined not to do that in the house. He pooped (hooray!), then walked a bit more so he could plop himself down in the grass. He loves to be outside, but this was a problem because the news was filled with warnings of an impending blizzard complete with a foot of snow. Just as he plopped his stubborn self into the yard, the snow started to fall. Swell.

It was darn cold here—below freezing—and he refused to even sit up. I covered his naked butt with a blanket so at least he wouldn’t get frostbite. We tried treats. We tried bringing Annie out. We tried the “Let’s go for a ride!” trick. We tried it all. I made him a sled. No way he was riding on that. The only thing that motivated him to come in was all of us leaving him. I wasn’t too keen on that, but it got him up. I’d be watching from the door, and as soon as he’d sit up I’d run out… and he’d plop back down. Stubborn little…

Two or four hours later (depending on if you ask Lauren or me), I said “screw it”. Lauren pulled on his leash, and with my gloved hands, I reached under his belly and forcibly picked up his rear-end. Lauren pulled him forward, and his choices were walk or fall on his face. Luckily, he chose the former.

He walked all the way inside with only one break. I’m not in the best shape of my life, and I consider it a victory that I didn’t vomit on him while bent over lifting his stubborn ass into the house.

To put the icing on the cake, after he got situated inside, the little stinker decided that he’d rather be in his bed, so he just got up, walked over, and sat in his comfy bed.

I’m starting to wonder if the bottle of narcotics was meant for Lauren and me.

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