Elsa is thriving under foster parents' Deb and Merle's loving care. The Great Rescue happened on Thursday. On Friday, day two, I went to visit and was greeted with big full tail wags. My niece went with me and sat on the floor, and Elsa sat on her lap. Looking at Deb. Wagging.
We bumped her up to a half a cup of sensitive stomach kibble four times a day, plus the A/D with the Panacur once a day. Her belly looked even skinnier because it was less bloated on Friday; losing the belly worm load. But she looked the tiniest bit less gaunt. Better hydrated. Shoot, she looked alive instead of like the standing dead. We sat and wondered about her past. Elsa took a long, peaceful, deep nap, opening her eyes only if Deb left the room.
Friday evening the phone rang. It was Merle. "We have a new development." My heart sank. Was she having bloody diarrhea all over their lovely house? Was she screaming in pain? Panting uncontrollably from Congestive Heart Failure?
"What is it, Merle?"
"She wants to play. We need some toys for this dog."
Oh my goodness, you are kidding me! "Bill, I'm going to run to my shop and get some toys for Elsa. I'll be right back."
Bill looked incredulous. "The water is almost boiling. You can't go now!" Bill had been given the all clear from his doc, and was celebrating being alive and well and in full control of his faculties by making a new and delicious pasta dish.
"Ok, I'll grab something from here and just run it over to Deb and Merle's and be right back, I swear." I grabbed a hard green squeaky ball which was a little too big for the whippets, and a rolled rawhide, and a large rubber ridged chew. It was all I had which was big enough for her. I jogged down the street with the treasures.
I was met at the door by a beaming Deb, a laughing Merle, and a wagging yellow skeleton dog playing tug with a knotted towel. I threw the squeaky ball and the skeleton dog ran after it and pounced and brought it back just a'squeaking and a'wagging. We all clapped and laughed like big goofs. We were big goofs. Big happy delighted amazed goofs. And it was only day two.
This morning, day three, I called to see how things were. I feared that Elsa had in a moment's boredom, oh, I don't know, eaten their dining room table. No, she had been great. Still some loose to liquid stool, but not frequent. Still not a single accident in the house. She had chewed on the rawhide, and was learning the "out" command with toys. Merle would have her sit, give her the toy, have a kibble ready, tell her "out", and trade the toy for a kibble. A natural at this dog training stuff!
I stopped by this afternoon with a couple more toys. Deb had already been to Petsmart and gotten her a Kong, (perfect!) some training treats and biscuits. I brought a dead rubber chicken. This particular dead rubber chicken has (had) a squeaker and a little bit of stuffie stuffing for disemboweling pleasure. Elsa had at it:
If anyone ever needed an example that Life Is Good, here it is, in living skeletal color! If anyone ever needed an example that people are good, there are Deb and Merle, bringing a dog they can't even keep back from the very brink.
And someone is going to get a great dog.
Hug your hounds!
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