I’ve faced all sorts of horrors and trials in life, but nothing prepared me for this.
My little dog, Daisy, fell ill. Well, it wasn’t so much that she was sick… she simply overindulged.
How this tiny creature, barely six inches tall, manages to hide six additional stomachs is beyond me. She begs for food with the fervour only a seasoned orphan could muster, and she never seems to be satisfied. Naturally, we fall for her antics and feed her generously. We’re fools, loving fools, with soft hearts.
How could we not feel sympathy? Those eyes she has remind me of a song my father brought back from an expedition to Mongolia, which he sang to me as a lullaby: “I sat and wept, for I ate little and, forgive me, relieved myself a lot.” Each time she looks at us, it’s as if it’s the last time. How can you deny her a morsel of mango or a bit of fish?
At least she doesn’t drink. I shudder to think how we’d manage that.
So there we were. She had once again gorged herself and had an episode. It happened suddenly, without warning. One moment she was a joyful pup, and the next she resembled a dying swan with her neck all twisted up. “Quick, my dears, turn on some Saint-Saëns!” we exclaimed.
We began to panic. Searching for ticks, taking her temperature with a thermometer. The thermometer broke in the process. She rolled her eyes, bid us farewell, and lay down to pass away.
We called a taxi. Traffic jams. Tears of despair. The best vet in the entire universe awaited us.
When she’s healthy and driving us mad with her insatiable appetite, one can think, “What possessed me to get caught up in this pet ownership? I could have returned her to the shelter and put an end to it—my patience is all but gone!” Yet, when she’s on the verge, it morphs into: “My precious little kitty, how will I ever cope without you?”
We finally arrived. The vet pronounced the sage words: “Cold, hunger, and peace!” No food or water for twenty-four hours, then gradually we could offer her some sustenance, alongside something he injected her with. He took her temperature again with the same method.
He managed to calm us slightly and sent us on our way.
An hour after the injections, our dog started to smile again, and the lights returned to her eyes, the same insatiable spark there once more. “Food! Water! Give me something! I’ll perish, for heaven’s sake!”
The spot on the floor where her bowls once stood was licked clean. She rummaged under the table, finding some stray lid that had been left behind, and chased it around the house until dawn, hoping that something edible would miraculously appear.
But we remained resolute.
A disaster struck when we remembered that there was still a cat in the house, who also needed to eat and drink.
Goodness… The door that my husband and I braced with our combined strength so the cat could finish her meal shook as though a battering ram was being wielded from the other side where our tiny dog lay. Yet we held our ground with all our might.
Through the night, we lived in fear as Daisy, with her peculiar paws, tried three times to break into the refrigerator.
She groaned and grunted with such effort that we doubted her health more than once. Eventually, this poor creature plopped down on the floor directly in front of my head and stared at me with reproachful eyes until six in the morning, denying me any sleep.
In the morning, I resolved that the whole family would abstain from eating until we received the vet’s approval because even the sight of a coffee cup sent her jumping almost to face level. Not mine, unfortunately, but Ilya’s. And he’s already 192 centimetres tall and has plenty of living to do.
By lunchtime, I faltered and stealthily made my way to the fridge. Silently, with one powerful motion, I opened a can of green peas, scooped a spoonful, but my hand trembled, and two peas fell onto my slipper, just short of my mouth.
Goodness… I nearly lost my foot… Goodness… That little insatiable creature inhaled those peas along with a bunny pom-pom that once adorned my house slippers…
And now we faced a week of dietary restrictions.
How we’re supposed to survive and what our next steps are, I simply can’t fathom. I’m writing this from the bathroom, locked away. If anything goes awry, please don’t remember me harshly.
I fear that my body won’t last more than three days for her.
And then? It’s frightening to contemplate…
