A visit to the Vet hospital.

I wake around my usual time, hesitating for only moment whether or not I’m going to snooze on for a bit or not, and then decide on the latter when something in the air warns me that it’ll be a busy day ahead, not allowing for laziness on my part. It is a day on which there’ll be little time for “insignificant” things such as sleeping, I think, so I finish my Elfhunter reading while going through the morning’s routine, and head out of my cabin less than an hour after awakening.

My suspicions of ill tidings are confirmed by the time I get to the house and finish hanging and folding the day’s laundry, while big brother lets loose the main pack.
Clue, one of chocolate colored Pointers is barely able to come down the stairs, needing the help of big brother lest he topples over, right there at the top. His hind legs are hardly able to support him, and he has this miserable look in his woeful eyes when we examine him closely.

One has to know that Clue has never been the healthiest dog in our pack of ninety-six. Though his previous grievances were mild compared to what he has now, he has been the source of some concern over the past two years since he joined our pack. Weakness in the limbs, whining pitifully for reasons unexplained and particularly nasty cough when he was but a pup. The list has always been endless.

Clue was about four months old when we got him as a give-away dog with a family who’d found him wandering the streets. He was a tiny little thing for his age, scrawny, too, but too beautiful to leave to his fate. It was his character that worried us, right from the start, however.

Timid and shy are a mild description for the beautiful Pointer. His stature is great, though he tends to lower his head submissively, and his fur gleams and is very soft to the touch, making him a rare sight to behold amidst our large variety of breeds.

We suspect that whoever his owners were, they didn’t treat him well at all.
We’ve got several other Pointers within our lot. The Spanish variety, El Braco Español, which is white and black of color. The Viscla from the northern regions of Europe, bearing a gorgeous orange pelt. And the ghostly gray Wiemeraner branch of the Pointer breed; all of which are very straightforward in their behavior, and even snappy at times. But not Clue, he shies away most of the time, only rarely daring to come towards us without coaxing, for a quick pat on the head, before he dashes away again.

This behavior always saddens me in a dog; seeing how some pet owners, mistreat these beautiful, loyal and loving creatures. Most of the time, when we take on a new dog that has been abandoned, the majority of their acclimation period is spent undoing whatever damage is done. It is not always a successful endeavor, I’m sad to admit. For some dogs their past is just too big a hurdle to overcome, making them set themselves apart from the rest of the pack.

But back to Clue: We are unable to locate any physical damage that might be the cause of his ill health today, which has made him vomit repeatedly while his behind continues to drop to the floor. So, in the end it is decided that as soon as the younger sibs are up and about we’ll take him to the veterinary for a medical check-up.

He’s a darling when we transport him to the vet hospital, lying quietly on the backseat beside me as we head towards the village at a moderate speed– in case he’s actively hurting somewhere. Once there, I’m obliged to lift him out of the back seat while big brother holds the doors open for my passage, crooning soft words to poor Clue, who’s looking wearily at the place that he only remembers from when he was neutered.

Quiet, but thankfully showing no signs of fear, I support his rear first with one arm, and then as the waiting period draws out, I drape him over my knees to help him remain standing until the attending vet finally appears and tells us to follow her to the exam room.

With her faulty English and our miserably lacking Spanish we do in the end manage to convey the problem while she steadily checks out his vitals.
His gums are to white to any of our liking, feeling cold to the touch as well, and after applying the thermometer to our stoic looking Clue she confirms what we’d already suspected: He has a high fever and will need to be medicated for that, as well as the occasional vomiting he has been experiencing during the course of the morning.

If our usual vet had been there, we would have been allowed to stay during the X-Rays, which need to be taken while blood works are being done, but since this new young vet is the only one on call we leave Clue behind in a cage in the back of the hospital and return home.

I feel quite out of sorts when we arrive at home, giving my ecstatic dogs only absent pats as they bounce wildly around me. Mosha, in fact, literally climbs up the length of me in her exuberance, licking my face like mad, before I actually become aware of what she’s doing due to her sharp little nail digging into my chest.

With a quiet chuckle I giver her a good hug and then set her down before I go to the pantry, where Knight II is making a racket.
Due to the Great Dane’s formidable size, I have long since come to the conclusion that for my own safety, as well as that of the other dogs, it is better to lock him up in a separate room when I return from errands such as today.

If he isn’t contained when I get home, he is like an unstoppable wave of solid muscle and bone, coming at me top speed. Though it would be manageable if he were the only pet in the house, what with a good fifty milling about, barking excitedly at the return of the humans, it is simply not doable while he is still so very young.

He’s about 18 months old now, still acting like a pup and totally unaware of his might whenever he gets excited about something. Training him will most certainly be an interesting venture.

After several minutes of Chaos throwing his full weight against my hips, the Labradors vying for attention and the Cockers and Beagle circling and then penetrating the tight group from time to time for their own bit of affection, the lot finally quiets down, allowing me to release Knight’s leash and look around to see what needs to be done.

What with my feeling of disquiet, I know that my mind will drive me bonkers if I sit down and relax now, so instead, I head for the pantry once more –the dogs hot on my heels– and refill the washer before turning it on by tapping the bare carcass that lies on display now that big brother has explored the controls for breaks and such.
Amazingly it start up right on cue, leaving me to carry out the two batches that have been washed since I arrived at the house that morning, and step into the windy dusk for the final hanging of the day.

That done, and still feeling uncomfortable I decide to start on today’s dinner, consistent of Macaroni and spinach, all baked together with spices, sweet and sour chili sauce, half a red bell pepper, and onion and cheese.

However tasteful, I manage to choke down only a little. As usual during stressful times my stomach revolts at even the least bit of food consumed, but I manage to keep it down and move straight on to the front room of the Finca where our large supply of fabrics literally overflow the shelves.

The dratted closet has been a thorn in my eye for months now, and since I want to keep busy above all, little sister and I take out all fabrics –and partially finished projects– for a good sorting. It takes me a good hour to get through the lot; tossing out damaged fabrics and folding the lengths that are worth saving.

By the time I’ve lugged the neat piles back to their appointed shelves, I’m both pleased and weary, since lifting the many pounds, while navigating the dogs and going up and down the three levels that make up the main floor of the house, turn out to be a nice substitute for the exercise I didn’t have today.

While grandpa and I carry two full garbage bags to the pantry for later disposal, I decide to call the vet for an update on the tests that have been done.
A quick conversation with the very nice and experienced assistant who works there –and speaks English very well to boot– I am informed that the tests have shown to be inconclusive for Clue’s symptoms. His X-Rays showed no damage to his spine, and the blood works were fine too. Thus it is decided that he will stay there for the night, so they can monitor him until tomorrow when we can come back.

That done, along with a quick report to the rest of the worried family, I resume with the fabric storage shelves, while trying to give an enthusiastic Knight the attention he’s demanding of me.
He has this annoying habit of grabbing whatever it is I’m carrying, and after chasing him twice I set down the last pile of neatly folded fabrics, to grab him by his collar and command him to sit.

It quiets him down effectively, since he knows that if he follows the command well, he’ll get a proper treat, leaving me free to finish what I started.
Pleased with the neat end result, I decide to sit for a while, having a drink of icy water while smoking a much-desired cigarette. Still I am unable to calm my turmoil thoughts, so after half an hour, of talking and glancing at the TV occasionally, I head for the kitchen to do the evening’s dishes in little sister’s stead.

Little brother has spent the majority of the day working in the corner where the main computer stands. Cleaning surfaces, CDs and instruction books with remarkable diligence, and giving the entire house a nice clean atmosphere.

It always amazes me how we all just sort of settled in a routine of our own: Each and every one of us performing specific tasks that suit us best, creating an end result that works pretty well.

While I mostly focus on laundry, cooking and the less day-to-day tasks such as cleaning out cupboard shelves, walls and general cleaning maintenance, little sister keeps the kitchen bright and shiny on a daily basis and pitches in where she can.
Big brother tends to see to major maintenance, and the patio in which the dogs are free to roam during the night, while he AND little brother take care of the removal of garbage bags and the likes, and carry down the heavy bags of dog food every day.
Younger sister, is mostly responsible for the daily hosing down of the courtyard, and feeds the variety of other pets that honor our house.

For all the other things that need to be done, everyone just pitches in when and where they can, creating a rather well oiled machine where in the end everything gets done… at some point in time. Hah.

The dogs each have their own boss, but since mom and big brother have the most –compared to the younger sibs and I– taking care of them is also pretty much a joined effort.
When trimming needs to be done, it is organized so that it can be handled in shifts of two.
Those, with whom the dog in question tends to reside, give whatever medications are needed, and feeding time is a matter of just keeping a close eye on every pack member until all have had their share.

The dynamics of our particular family might be odd, but it works, which is all that really matters in the end.

As for today… it comes to an end unremarkably.
Trin Trin gets her seventh injection, before I whistle for my pack to follow me out of the house and courtyard and back up the mountain.
My thoughts are with Clue at the hospital, spending the night in a cage, while I feed my dogs their extra share, and spent a few minutes reading a book, and then get ready for my nightly communications on the Net.

Now all that is left for me to do tonight is give four of my dogs their daily medication and turn in for some much required sleep while the wind howls around my cabin, keeping the pesky clouds at bay once more… I hope.