Saturday, October 29, 2016
Observing the symptoms.
Scary burger. A new sign goes up in the entrance of the trendy modern cafe. Bob and his master stop to study the picture of a dark purple bun topped with a butternut chip.
Bob is keen to try it. His master less so. The pretty waitress now knows Bobs name. While I read Les Echos he gets chatted to. He also gets hand fed some small pieces of crust from a freshly baked wholemeal loaf.
Sophie's impatience with being house bound grows by the day.
Yesterday Bob developed a drool. A dribble from the left side of his mouth. To begin with we thought he'd been covered in cobwebs from the garden. Nothing visibly wrong with his teeth, gums or jaw. The family fellow not bothered by it.
Mid-morning, after a haircut, he's holding his head at a slight angle. When he eats lunch some of the food ends up on top of his muzzle. A discussion as to whether to go to the vets or ignore it for another day in the hope it clears up. The drool worsens. Off to the vets. Lots of tests. Eyes bright. Coordination fine. He's not been poisoned. It's not a Processionary Caterpillar. It's not the gold finch he swallowed. Possibly an Accident Vasculaire Cérébral - a small stroke - or a glandular infection. The other alternatives so dire they're not worth thinking about. Antibiotics prescribed, an injection given and careful observation prescribed.
Seems Polish Lowland Sheepdog boys don't do protracted stress well.