A Tale of two Doggies

The past week has been a bit of a scare. Pooch and cuddles, the most adorable members of our admittedly dysfunctional nuclear family took ill all of a sudden and spent the better half of Tuesday night throwing up.

Wednesday morning saw us glancing anxiously at the clock in the hall, waiting for it to announce the arrival of 10 a.m. the magical hour when our family vet opened her doors to the canine world. A half hour later, our driver returned with dogs in tow. They had been diagnosed with a fever, and a part of the blame was laid on the pest-control guy who'd turned up the previous day and exorcised our house. Unfortunately, the exorcism seemed to have greatly affected the canine spirits happily in residence, despite the fact that they were stowed away safely.

Pooch spent the day in misery, whimpering and restless, while Cuddles watched on, her tail thumping haplessly every now and then. I played nurse and hand-fed them a few marie biscuits mashed up in cold water which they dutifully licked off my fingers and duly brought up ten minutes later.

When evening came, I was sure that another visit to the vet was in order. The dogs were packed into an auto(our only car having gone to the service station), accompanied by the driver and myself. We patiently waited our turn, while Cuddles and Pooch, sickness or no sickness, felt the need to bark at dogs triple their size. The owners of the dogs whiled away the waiting period by discussing various dietary habits and ailments. A large labrador retriever was at the vet on account of him having eaten a large portion of biriyani. The owner of a sad-looking german shepherd tut-tutted away at this admission, and chided the owner. Biriyani, he said, should only be given in minute quantities, just for the 'smell'. I thought it best to refrain from participating too deeply in the conversation, and luckily, our turn came up next.

Cuddles, little manipulator that she is, managed to wriggle out of her collar nad leash and waddled off in the opposite direction. She has a phobia of needles, and is generally a very nervous little darling. Visits to the vet are second on her list of things to be terrified of, topped only by diwali crackers.

We managed to grab, collar and leash her, this time, a bit more tightly. She walked to the door with an air of resignation akin to the sentiments of those walking to the gallows. Pooch seemed glad to see the vet. She, at least, understood his pain. I stood around, and at an opportune moment, pointed out to her that he kept crying and licking his uh, organ of manhood. I suggested that his pain might not be entirely due to the fever and the pest-control man.

The vet, a woman(thankfully), sighed, and called me around to show me poor Pooch's obviously sore organ. It looked as though he had tried to mate with a bramble bush. She then rubbed him down with an ointment, administered an injection for pain relief, and all too soon, it was Cuddles' turn.

Cuddles made one last halfhearted attempt to escape the clutches of the vet, but she was no match for the 3 of us. In one swift movement, she was on the table, and the vet was marveling yet again that a nervous dog such as she could have given birth to, and nursed not 2 or 3, but 9 pups, and manage to survive the ordeal. I had to agree with her, while I patted my poor darling's spotted ears, and tried to distract her as the vet sneaked an injection in.

It was with much relief that the dogs and I departed. We decided to walk back home. Cuddles was trotting along so fast, poor Pooch could hardly keep up with her. Thankfully, they spent the night in recovery, and I'm happy to say they were a pair of healthy and voraciously hungry dogs the next morning.

This morning though, Pooch was missing at breakfast. Like every member of the male species, he has failed to learn his lesson, and has gone back to his philandering ways, sore organ notwithstanding. I shudder to think of what might be in store next.