I’ve faced all sorts of horrors and misfortunes, but nothing could have prepared me for this.
My dog, Daisy, fell ill. Well, it wasn’t so much that she fell ill… she simply overindulged.
I have no idea how this fifteen-centimeter tall creature manages to hide six extra stomachs. She begs for food with an intensity only seen in professional beggars and can never seem to get enough. Naturally, we fall for it and feed her generously, like fools—loving fools, that’s what we are. Very soft-hearted.
How can you not feel sympathy? Her little eyes remind me of that song my dad brought back from his expedition to Mongolia, which he would sing to me as a lullaby: “I sat and wept bitterly, for I ate little and, forgive me, did my business.” She looks at me with those eyes as if it were the last time, making it impossible to deny her a morsel of mango or a piece of fish. At least she doesn’t drink; I can only imagine how it would complicate things if she did.
So, there she was, once again overstuffed and suddenly on the brink of death. One moment, she was a cheerful little dog, and the next—a dying swan with her neck twisted. Quick, my dear ones, play some Saint-Saëns! We frantically searched for ticks, inserted a thermometer, but it gave out on us. She rolled her eyes, said her goodbyes, and lay down to pass away.
A taxi, traffic jams, tearful farewells. The best vet in the universe was waiting for us. When she was healthy, her incessant demands made me think, “Why did I get involved with this creature? I should just return her to the shelter and be done with it; she’s eaten my soul!” But when I thought she was dying, it turned into, “Oh, my little darling, how could I live without you now?”
We arrived. The vet pronounced the sacred words: “Cold, hunger, and rest!” Twenty-four hours without food or water, then gradually introduce fluids. He injected her with something powerful and took her temperature again.
He reassured us a little and sent us on our way.
An hour after her injections, she started to perk up, the Saint-Saëns music cut off, and that insatiable, orphan-like glimmer returned to her eyes. Feed me! Give me something to drink! I’m going to die if you don’t!
She licked the spot on the floor where her bowls had been until it gleamed. She rummaged under the table and found a random lid that had rolled away, which she chased around the house until morning, hoping someone would toss her some food. But no luck. We stood firm.
The situation grew dire when we remembered we still had a cat, which also needed to eat and drink.
Oh dear… the door we were holding shut with all our strength while the cat fed trembled as though little Daisy was trying to break through with a heavy battering ram from the other side. But we held our ground with all our might.
We spent the night in dread, for Daisy, with her little paws, attempted to break open the fridge three times.
She groaned and huffed with determination to the point we doubted her health tenfold. Then that poor creature settled right in front of my head and hypnotized me with her reproachful gaze until six in the morning, denying me sleep.
In the morning, I resolved that no one in the family would eat until our vet gave the all-clear because even the sight of a coffee cup would send her bouncing nearly to Ilya’s face. Unfortunately, Ilya is already 192 centimeters tall and has a long life ahead…
By lunchtime, I surrendered my position and stealthily approached the fridge. Silently, with one mighty yank, I opened a can of green peas, scooped out a spoonful, but my hand trembled. Two peas plopped down onto my slippers before they reached my mouth. Good lord… I nearly lost my leg… That insatiable little creature consumed the peas along with the bunny pom-pom that adorned my indoor shoes…
And ahead lies a week of dietary exercises.
I truly have no idea how we’ll manage or where to turn. I’m writing from the bathroom, having locked myself in. If anything happens, don’t speak ill of me.
I fear my body will suffice for a maximum of three days.
And then? It’s terrifying to think…
