I have endured various horrors and hardships throughout my life, but nothing could have prepared me for this.
My little dog, Daisy, fell ill. Well, it wasn’t so much illness as it was overindulgence.
How this fifteen-centimetre creature manages to hide six extra stomachs, I really cannot fathom. She begs for food with a tenacity that would rival the most practiced of orphans, and she never seems to be satisfied.
Naturally, we fall for her antics and feed her generously. Foolish, I assure you. Loving fools, burdened by compassion.
How could we not? With those big, pleading eyes, she reminds me of that song my father brought back from his expedition in Mongolia, where he sang me to sleep with the lines, “I sat and wept bitterly, for I barely ate and (forgive me) had to relieve myself often.”
Every time she looks at me, it’s like a final farewell. How could anyone refuse her a morsel of mango or a small fish?
At least she doesn’t drink. I dread to think how we’d handle that scenario.
So, Daisy gorged herself once again and appeared to be on the brink of death. It was sudden, an instantaneous change—one moment a joyful pup, the next an ailing swan, neck twisted, we might as well have played Saint-Saëns.
We sprang into action. Searching for ticks, inserting a thermometer. The thermometer broke under the pressure; she rolled her eyes, said her goodbyes, and lay down to die.
A taxi ride ensued. Traffic. Tears of farewell. We were off to see the best veterinarian in the whole universe.
When she was healthy and pestering us with her insatiable appetite, I sometimes thought, “Why did I get into this pet ownership business? I should have returned her to the shelter and been done with it. She’s consumed my soul!” But once she looked like she might pass, all I could think was, “Oh, my little darling, how can I live without you?”
We arrived. The vet performed his solemn duty: “Cold, hunger, and peace!” Twenty-four hours without food or water, then slowly reintroduce liquids. He injected her with something potent, inserting the thermometer into the same spot again.
He reassured us somewhat and sent us on our way.
An hour after the injections, Daisy perked up, Saint-Saëns turned off, and that same insatiable hunger reignited in her eyes. “Food! Water! Something! I will perish, you fiends!”
The spot on the floor where her bowls had once sat was licked clean to a shine. She rummaged under the table for a wayward lid and chased it around the house until morning, hoping something edible would be tossed her way.
But we were resolute.
The real terror struck when we remembered that our cat still needed feeding and watering too.
Goodness… The door, which my partner and I held shut with our combined strength while the cat dined, shook as if a small siege engine were battering it down from the other side. But we held our ground with all our might.
We spent the night in anxiety and dread, listening as Daisy tried, time and again, to break into the fridge with her dainty paws.
She groaned and grunted from her efforts, leading us to question her health once more.
Then that poor creature settled down on the floor right in front of my head, glaring at me with such a look of reproach that I couldn’t sleep until six in the morning.
In the morning, I decided that the whole family would abstain from eating until we received the vet’s approval because even a glimpse of a coffee cup sent Daisy jumping nearly to my partner’s face. Not mine, alas. Ilya is already 192 centimetres tall, and he’s still growing…
By lunchtime, I surrendered and sneakily approached the fridge. Silently, with a powerful tug, I opened a tin of green peas, scooped one with a spoon, but my hand trembled, and two peas fell onto my slipper before they could reach my mouth.
Good heavens… I almost lost my leg… That little insatiable creature devoured those peas along with the rabbit pom-pom that so embellished my house slippers…
And ahead lies another week of dietary wrangling.
I truly don’t know how we will survive or where we can turn. I am currently hiding in the bathroom. If anything happens, don’t remember me with anger.
I fear my body will only satisfy her hunger for three days at most.
And then? It’s a horrifying thought…
