He’s better now, but it’s been six days of fear and general hell.
Just a note to explain why RFL has been so cross. Raebert finally got his haircut on Thursday, despite his daddy’s constant balking and irrational paranoia.
He seemed okay when I brought him home, but then he collapsed on the way up the stairs. There followed days of not eating, immobility, random body-trembling anxiety attacks, and emotional rejection of both of us.
RFL hasn’t said “I told you so” in so many words. I believe him when he says the worst he was anticipating was an onset of itching and accelerating scratching that could leave Raebert as nearly naked as a flea allergy once left Psmith. But that probably doesn’t explain all the unreasonable dread. It must be a Scottish thing.
Like the switch that suddenly flipped when Raebert went down and sent him away from here to “Instapunk Rules,” where he is still working and posting.
I just thought you all might want to know at the end of this diary that the deerhound is almost back to 100 percent. Almost.
He looks beautiful. We keep reminding him of SNL’s Fernando, who famously declared “It is better to look good than to feel good.” He’s starting to come around. Now if his daddy would follow his example. Maybe when his knees stop hurting from sitting on the floor with Raebert for so many hours.
sláinte.
[Disregard the post signature. I don’t know much about WordPress. But this is me, known here as Lady Laird.]
God bless women who can keep their feet on the ground. We’d be lost wi’out ’em.
Glad the pup is doing better. Be sure to post a beauty shot of the new ‘do when he’s feeling sunny.
Creatures don’t always respond to these “simple” procedures like we’d expect. A vet snookered me into letting him clean my Japanese bobtail samurai cat’s teeth once. The scary stories about what could happen to him if I didn’t overwhelmed my intuition to just leave the poor animal’s teeth alone, since he’d been doing fine with them as-was for ten years. It took days for him to get over it, and he was never quite the same afterwards. I think the anesthesia messed something up. Having to pill him with antibiotics for ten days afterwards messed me up. Literally. The bobtail ripped holes in denim, and I almost lost a thumb. So much for simple procedures.
I’ve got no real advice re: The Curmudgeon. I was out of town on vacation when all that went down. Keep him comfortable and well-stocked with his favorite treats, perhaps? Other than that and maybe Scotch… I dunno.
He’s Scottish enough without the Scotch. But he does love Cheetos and Mickey D’s.
I, too, missed this entire drama, and I’m sorry for that. Sorry to hear of the dark valley, happy to hear of the beautiful return. Thank you for the update, Lady Laird, this site didn’t deserve to die with an “I’m done.” As someone who helped with its very beginning, I still believe in the original vision for it. But I’m glad Instapunk is back, too. Maybe I shouldn’t be — I wear a target on my back too often.
Sensitive things, though big and strong and supposedly invulnerable. Important to keep their affectability in mind, not assuming they can simply take it. Meaning hounds. And Scots. And men.
No idea how to keep a curmudgeon happy, or what passes for. Long walks in cool hills tends to work for big dogs, and for me. Downright grounding.
Thank you, Lady Laird. Since seeing the “I’m done” post I’ve had trouble sleeping and have been looking a lot like Raebert (except I don’t have a rug to lie on as I brood). I know you’re taking good care of both of them.