The dog who’s been ill for two weeks to the day is still alive — today.
No new poop picture of the day today. Not to sound flippant. No. Reason is I was away yesterday looking for a new place so don’t know whether he dumped on the floor. I presume so, have no reason to think otherwise. Big poops and diarrhea of a sickly dog have become the new norm.
Also, the house reeked of poop when I got back last night. The roommate and owner, “John,” does a substandard job of cleaning it up and/or odor maintenance.
Which leads me to today’s topic.
The dog, Chance, was rushed to the emergency clinic Monday evening for severe and persistent gastrointestinal problems, including vomiting upon arrival.
Awaiting results of various tests.
In the meantime, they prescribed in writing a bland diet of chicken and rice (standard with GI problems) for a few days. If he tolerated that then gradually reintroduce his usual kibble.
John, as owner, handles the 1x/day evening feedings.
I anticipated returning to a kitchen brimming with rice and chicken — perhaps a whole fresh hot roasted one.
Not a grain in sight. Nor chicken save for the usual packaged chunks John uses for his lunches and dinners.
I am LIVID.
It gets worse.
John’s continuing to give Chance the VERY kibble the vets prescribed to discontinue for a spell!!!!
AND he’s continuing to give him packaged treats — a suspect in the dog’s GI downfall! Contrary not only to the vet’s advisement of rice & chicken only but our agreement to eliminate all treats for now.
The disregard, disrespect and dismissiveness John’s shown and continues to show even as his dog is down and out — yet still alive today somehow — I’m a bomb exploding on the inside.
I don’t wish the dog to die.
Yet his suffering and demise make me feel that his passing to the other side is better than the long slow death promised by the owner in his continued and WILLING negligence and neglect.
Really. I’m rabidly angry. Bombs exploding inside me now and every day that this continues — 2 weeks now and growing.
My life revolves around: (1) caring for the dog the best I can under constrained circumstances and (2) not being around John.
I go to extreme lengths to assure I’m not here when he is. I leave before he returns from work and I return late at night only when he’s asleep.
Our paths haven’t crossed in 4 days. I’d make it 44 and more if I could. Eventually they must and will cross — for no other reason than I’ll be moving me and my stuff out soon as I secure new digs.
My heart pours out to this animal.
My revulsion toward John — a friend until his dog’s sickness revealed a new side — pounds with the power of a heartbeat.
This newest discovery — that he’s completely disregarded the vet’s (appropriate) advice for the dog’s food and instead continued TO DO WHAT HE WANTS and SEE FITS … “cavalier attitude” hardly describes it.
It’s cruelty. Benign concealed cruelty.
Which is worse than direct upfront cruelty With that, you’ve got a chance to fight back.
When it’s benign — or designed to appear so — and lurking within the shadows, that’s insidiousness, the poison into the veins.
Bless the dog and my friend Chance.
I can’t forgive what your “dad” is doing, not yet, not now, perhaps never. All I can do for you Chance is pour all my care and concern upon you and perhaps, hopefully, fill in a little of the huge hole of neglect your owner’s giving you.
I care, Chance.
I wish and wish and wish John cared even half as much. Your chances of recovery would be doubled.