Tuesday, August 22, 2017
Be careful what you wish for
By Wylie Hudson
I wish I’d known the meaning of the saying: “Be careful what you wish for” earlier. I would have been less tempted to pine for Hobo’s diet canned food. As is it, I got my wish but the hard way.
I had to get sick myself before someone finally offered me a similar food to what Hobo is eating nowadays. I woke up Saturday morning, not feeling well at all. Mom took one look at me and knew something was wrong. She said she could see it on my face. And she was right. I didn’t eat my breakfast and didn’t even touch a treat.
Now, Hobo can sometimes be cautious with his food, especially when he thinks it’s tainted with drugs, but I gobble down everything in front of me that looks edible without hesitation. So, Mom didn’t waste a second when I turned my nose away from the food, and off we went to the clinic.
The vet didn’t find anything alarming apart from my temperature which was a tad elevated. He gave me a few injections and then offered me something to eat. OMD, I thought, that smelled and looked almost like Hobo’s food, and I scarfed it all down and licked the bowl clean.
We went back home with a bag full of canned food for me and some pills for nausea. I didn’t need to take the pills and happily started to eat on my new diet. I feel better again but still a little bit sluggish.
This was certainly not the way I wanted to get meals similar to Hobo’s. I’d rather stick with my usual dry food than being sick.
Thursday, August 10, 2017
Recuperating takes time
By Hobo Hudson
I guess having been living together with cats almost all my life, I acquired their peculiarity of having nine lives. I don’t know how many I’ve used up already and for how many my last health scare counts, but it surely was a roller coaster ride.
A week after my kidney treatments at the vet’s clinic, I
ended up at the clinic again. As before, I had stopped eating, and as before,
without ado, Mom had hauled me to the vet. This time, I had a slight fever. The
vet kept me for observation and gave me injections to bring my temperature and my
nausea down. A couple of hours later, I
asked him for some of the sandwich he was eating, and not wanting to share it
with me, he called my parents to pick me up and feed me at home.
I took a bite or two of the food Dad served me. This wasn’t
anything like the meat I smelled earlier that was in the vet’s sandwich. On the
contrary, this was the slop that came out of a can and made up my new, strict diet.
I told Dad he could have the rest of my canned food. Dad wasn’t happy about it,
and neither was Mom.
The next morning, I chomped down my diet food. My thinking
was that it would be unfair to upset Mom and Dad even more by my refusing to
eat than they already were. The food wasn’t really all that bad. In fact, my
doggy brother, Wylie, and my kitty sister, Sabrina, said it was excellent while
they were trying to steal it from under my nose.
But the main reason I chomped it down was because I was suddenly
hungry. Dad couldn’t have slipped an appetite-boosting pill into my mouth
without me knowing it, could he?
Anyway, I’m on high alert now for anything that I swallow to
make sure it’s not drugged. Otherwise, I’m eating more or less regularly again,
but my appetite isn’t what it used to be. I think gobbling down a big, juicy
steak for a few days at dinner would bring back my passion for food in no time.
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This was Hobo Hudson, my doggy brother, a little terrier mix with black fur. He became famous after his first attempt at writing stories, which was an article published in the newsletter of our local animal shelter, the same shelter in which I ended up years later before Hobo and his parents adopted me. Hobo’s fame quickly spread as he made a name for himself as a business dog and an adventurer. To keep his memory alive, my doggy sister, my three kitty siblings and I, Wylie Hudson, are continuing his blog. Our mom is the blog’s editor.
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