The sick animal emporium

As much as I can’t thole Waffle’s whinging, I find it difficult – if not impossible – to be annoyed with him when I know he’s not well.

On Thursday night of last week I was off visiting a friend when I received a text from the biggest little human. It said, “Waffle has been sick on the kitchen floor.” This was followed by two emojis, one mid-boke and the other with a thermometer in his mouth.

This text was soon followed by another mini missive which said the Hound had been sick twice more and was now retching.

This was concerning for two reasons: He hadn’t eaten the previous night’s dinner and wasn’t interested in breakfast and also, his ear infection had flared up and they were red and sore looking. Maybe the sickness and the infection were linked. Maybe they were’t. All I knew was: Another trip to the vet’s was suddenly in the offing.

The following day after work, I bundled the Waff into the car and we set off for the sick animal emporium. Now, under normal circumstances, if we’re travelling anywhere in the car, Waffle whinges like a rusty gate in the wind. Under normal circumstances I can only take so much of this before I crack. The ‘cracking’ results in my informing Waffle in a very loud voice that if he doesn’t shut his trap I’m gonna tell the vet to give him a lethal injection.

However, on this particular Friday after work and on the way to said vets, poor Waffle had such a forlorn look in his eye during his whining, I didn’t have the heart to complain. He seemed genuinely distressed which, in turn, made me feel genuinely distressed.

Upon arriving at the vet, Waffle immediately struck up a long and discordant wail as if, it seemed, he sensed that he was being teed up for that lethal injection and not some medicine to fix his sore ears and dodgy stomach. Then another puppy which was visiting the vet for something else started wailing. Then the vet’s dog came out to see what all the fuss was about and then Waffle started growling at him. Then Waffle resumed the wailing. Then I felt like wailing.

Fast-forward half an hour and after an extensive examination, the lady vet suggested Waffle has, “the greatest temperament,” an assertion to which I didn’t respond.

The crux of the matter was this: Due to his allergy issue, Waffle has to have another course of ear medicine (steroid cream) for the ear infection and then she wants to see him again in two weeks. After that fortnight, if the cream isn’t doing its job, aul Waffle might have to have a very expensive allergy test carried out with a view to crafting a vaccine to help prevent the allergy reoccurring.

“Will the allergy test and the vaccine cure his whingy wailing?” I didn’t ask.

The worst case scenario is that if Waffle’s allergy shtick continues and if he continues to have ear infections whereby his ear canals become all calcified, he may have to have surgery. Bad times for aul Waff. And bad times for my wallet.

Back at the homestead, Waffle is having his ears slathered with steroid cream twice daily, morning and night.

I’ve also instructed the littlest of the little humans to include Waffle in her nightly prayers and for my part, I was thinking of ringing Padre Pio.

It’s not that I would begrudge paying for the allergy test; aul Waff is now a member of the family and so should avail of all club perks therein. However it’s becoming more and more difficult watching Waffle struggle with the ear infection and all the associated scratching. Thankfully, the stomach bug appears to have cleared up on its own.

The best case scenario is that Waffle has the allergy test, the boffins pinpoint the allergy trigger and a vaccine saves the day.

The worst case scenario is surgery which, as you might imagine, comes with the usual risks.

To look at him, you wouldn’t exactly say that he looks badly failed. However, he definitely hasn’t been himself of late. If it’s possible for a dog to look glum, I’d say Waffle was the glummest dog alive.

I’ll keep you posted.