Wuff with the Smooth – The drugs don’t work

You may remember from some weeks ago that Waffle’s allergies were flaring up and following a conversation with a member of public at the vet’s we were considering giving him Piriton.

This consideration lasted longer than it would have taken to book Waffle into the vet’s for another consultation and then asking said vet if it was OK to administer a small portion of the drug.

Seeking a consultation would have been the logical thing to do but, as is the disjointed way my life works sometimes, that would have been too handy.

The thing was: Waffle’s allergies had recently subsided somewhat (less scratching, less dry skin etc) and so more medication wasn’t as vital as previously.

Also, the watchword was: Procrastination.

Fast-forward to last weekend and the Hairy Fool was once again scratching his ears like he wanted to rip them off.

“Hi, Scratch Face!” I berated him, any time he took into the lugs. My errant thinking was, if I chastised him enough maybe he’d think he wasn’t allowed to scratch his ears and would thus stop.

Admittedly, this was childish thinking on my part. Also, and most importantly, it didn’t work.

Crunch time arrived on Saturday night just as I had settled in with a beer and a book for some escapism.

“Waffle’s scratching his ears again,” somebody called, and my heart sank.

“Ring 999 there and ask to be put through to a witch doctor,” I replied.

“Normal medication doesn’t work for that clown.”

The truth was (and is), conventional medicine hasn’t worked for Waffle, apart from providing periodic and temporary respite when the allergic afflictions flate – which was why were had purchased the box of Piriton.

Picking up my phone I re-Goggled, ‘Is it safe to give my dog Piriton?’

The answer was a familiar one. ‘Yes, but it must be prescribed by a vet.’

I was pondering this information when another call came through: “Waffle ate two of my Jelly Tots!”

The circumstances surrounding this crime, I won’t bore you with, except to say, the Jelly Tots in question had been left on a window ledge while the owner visited the toilet and the Hairy Thief had wasted no time before swooping in and making off with his loot.

“Ring 999 there and ask for the taxidermist,” I called
back.

“Tell them we need a family member killed and then stuffed. Tell them it’s an emergency.”

The truth was (and is), I was still in two minds about giving Waffle the Piriton. I’m obviously not a vet – nor even a witch doctor – and so I was concerned about doing more harm than good. What happened next only confirmed my fears.

I have a good friend with a fine turn of phrase. One of his favourites, when referring to a sickly-looking thin person is this. “That man looks like a good feed would kill him.”

And lo it came to pass that another call came through, just as I had decided to ignore everything and return to my beer and the book.

“Waffle’s been sick in the hall!”

Instead of suggesting a call to the emergency services, this time I rose from my comfortable seat and wet to investigate.

Sitting within a green bolus of bile on the hall floor were two little Jelly Tots, one red and one green.

If I hadn’t known any better, it looked for all the world as though someone had delicately placed the sweeties onto the puke after Waffle had
been sick. But I did know better.

“Imagine,” I says to meself, “the mess I’d be cleaning up right now if it was half a Piriton tablet we’d given to the Hairy Fool.

“If two tiny Jelly Tots will make him heave up his guts, he’d likely explode on half a tablet.”

For once, procrastination worked to my benefit.