for some reason and take the scenic route, I would have quickly changed my mind. Paco started a shrill whine and kept it up all the way home. I spoke soothing nonsense as I drove; he didn’t seem to be paying attention.
As we got back to my house and I pulled the carrier out of the car, he finally fell silent. What a relief! For me, at least, but the little guy looked traumatized, crouched in the carrier and looking around at unfamiliar surroundings.
I carried the case into the kitchen. Claws skittered on the floor and Polly charged in to greet me. But right over the threshold, she came to a screeching halt, almost going into a skid, as she saw what I was carrying. She gave me a look that was the distilled essence of astonishment, and it finally occurred to me to wonder if bringing Paco here was such a good idea.
I heard a low menacing sound from about head height, and turned to see Tough Stuff on top of the refrigerator. He too was expressing dismay at his human’s latest insanity.
You’d think that Paco would realize by now that he was well behind enemy lines and that caution was of the essence. But no, he went into a frenzy of shrill defiance. Was he simply suicidal?
What to do? Deploy the baby gates.
I dragged the baby gates (all dog owners have them) out of the hall closet, and put one across the door into the laundry room. I put a bowl of water on the laundry room floor, then carefully extracted Paco from his carrier and leaned over the gate to put him on the floor. He stopped barking (whew!) and began a reconnoiter.
Then I took a second baby gate and placed it above the first one, hopefully blocking access to the laundry room for cats as well as dogs. Tough Stuff was bigger than Paco, and he didn’t put up with disrespect.
Now what?
I needed expert advi ce. I went to the phone and dia led the vet’s office and asked to speak to Doctor Harding. She came to the phone immediately. “Cissy? What’s going on?”
“I don’t think I can get into that, Doc,” I told her. “But I’ve got Paco at my house. He hadn’t eaten, probably for several days, so I fed him and stupidly gave him too much. I think he threw up everything he ate. Can I feed him, and what and how much?”
There was a pause. Finally Doc said, “Do you have his regular food?”
“Yes,” I said. “It’s a dry food.”
“Okay. Just give him a few bites at a time, and let it soak in water for a while first to soften up. Only a few pieces every several hours.”
“For how long?” I asked.
“A day or so ought to do it,” Doc said. “How long will you have Paco?”
“I really don’t know.” I heard gravel crunch outside and Polly sounded the dog alarm in case I didn’t know that someone had entered her realm. “Doc, I’ve got to go.”
I hung up and saw out the window that Luther had arrived. I shook off a feeling of guilt. After all, I did come straight home and I did stay here, and he didn’t actually say not to call anyone. I made one important call and I didn’t even mention the murder. Reminding myself of my complete rectitude, I went to the door and let Luther in.
Luther was the county’s chief crime investigator. Don’ t let that hang-dog basset look fool you; he’s twice as smart as the Sheriff. At least.
“Ma’am,” he said politely, entering the kitchen. He ruffled Polly’s ears and added, “Hey there, girl.”
Paco set up a shrill fusillade of protest. Look at me, I’ve been locked up!
“Maybe we should move into the living room,” I suggested.
“Good idea.” We moved out of the kitchen. Gesturing back over his shoulder, Luther added, “That’s gonna get real old real soon.”
“Tell me about it!” I agreed. “What are you going to do with him? What happens with pets when their owners die?”
“They wind up at the pound, unless friends or relatives take them.”
“Oh no!”
The authorities in Queen Anne County are not bad, heartless people. But as with all local governments, money
As we got back to my house and I pulled the carrier out of the car, he finally fell silent. What a relief! For me, at least, but the little guy looked traumatized, crouched in the carrier and looking around at unfamiliar surroundings.
I carried the case into the kitchen. Claws skittered on the floor and Polly charged in to greet me. But right over the threshold, she came to a screeching halt, almost going into a skid, as she saw what I was carrying. She gave me a look that was the distilled essence of astonishment, and it finally occurred to me to wonder if bringing Paco here was such a good idea.
I heard a low menacing sound from about head height, and turned to see Tough Stuff on top of the refrigerator. He too was expressing dismay at his human’s latest insanity.
You’d think that Paco would realize by now that he was well behind enemy lines and that caution was of the essence. But no, he went into a frenzy of shrill defiance. Was he simply suicidal?
What to do? Deploy the baby gates.
I dragged the baby gates (all dog owners have them) out of the hall closet, and put one across the door into the laundry room. I put a bowl of water on the laundry room floor, then carefully extracted Paco from his carrier and leaned over the gate to put him on the floor. He stopped barking (whew!) and began a reconnoiter.
Then I took a second baby gate and placed it above the first one, hopefully blocking access to the laundry room for cats as well as dogs. Tough Stuff was bigger than Paco, and he didn’t put up with disrespect.
Now what?
I needed expert advi ce. I went to the phone and dia led the vet’s office and asked to speak to Doctor Harding. She came to the phone immediately. “Cissy? What’s going on?”
“I don’t think I can get into that, Doc,” I told her. “But I’ve got Paco at my house. He hadn’t eaten, probably for several days, so I fed him and stupidly gave him too much. I think he threw up everything he ate. Can I feed him, and what and how much?”
There was a pause. Finally Doc said, “Do you have his regular food?”
“Yes,” I said. “It’s a dry food.”
“Okay. Just give him a few bites at a time, and let it soak in water for a while first to soften up. Only a few pieces every several hours.”
“For how long?” I asked.
“A day or so ought to do it,” Doc said. “How long will you have Paco?”
“I really don’t know.” I heard gravel crunch outside and Polly sounded the dog alarm in case I didn’t know that someone had entered her realm. “Doc, I’ve got to go.”
I hung up and saw out the window that Luther had arrived. I shook off a feeling of guilt. After all, I did come straight home and I did stay here, and he didn’t actually say not to call anyone. I made one important call and I didn’t even mention the murder. Reminding myself of my complete rectitude, I went to the door and let Luther in.
Luther was the county’s chief crime investigator. Don’ t let that hang-dog basset look fool you; he’s twice as smart as the Sheriff. At least.
“Ma’am,” he said politely, entering the kitchen. He ruffled Polly’s ears and added, “Hey there, girl.”
Paco set up a shrill fusillade of protest. Look at me, I’ve been locked up!
“Maybe we should move into the living room,” I suggested.
“Good idea.” We moved out of the kitchen. Gesturing back over his shoulder, Luther added, “That’s gonna get real old real soon.”
“Tell me about it!” I agreed. “What are you going to do with him? What happens with pets when their owners die?”
“They wind up at the pound, unless friends or relatives take them.”
“Oh no!”
The authorities in Queen Anne County are not bad, heartless people. But as with all local governments, money
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