Hey. Bear here.
Mom’s letting me write tonight ’cause she thinks it will help keep my mind off my ow-wee. She said for me just to tell my story in my own words, to just let it all out . .so here goes.
Mom wrote you on Sunday about how I sometimes get sick from taking medicine to make me well, right? It happened again. My vet gave me something called a stair-roid for my itchy, yucky hot spot. Mom told me some of you “up north” folks never heard of a hot spot. I’ll try to explain it. Imagine a gazillion ants, hornets, and wasps stinging you at the same time. Then imagine that they’re all stinging you in one spot under your ear. Then double that – no wait – triple it. If you can possibly imagine how bad that burns, stings, hurts, and itches . . . . go ahead and triple it again. Now set fire to it. That’s how a hot spot feels.
Anyway, back to the stair-roids. Mom told the vet she didn’t think I could tol-er-rate (that’s a big word) stair-roids because the last time I took them she thought she remembered I threw up. But the vet said, “Bear needs the stair-roids to stop the hot spot infection – along with some spray I already told ya’ll “burns like . . . yeah, it burns.” Mom said, “Ok, we’ll just have to deal with the side effects.” Huh.
Now let me just say I knew mom wasn’t right about me throwing up. I KNEW what the stair-roids made me do last time, and I could not believe SHE didn’t remember. After I almost collapsed from the pain of the spray, I tried to catch mom’s eye and signal her to NOT TAKE THOSE PILLS HOME. But she was too busy yakking with the vet like they were best buds, so I just shook my head and thought, “I’m toast.”
When we got home, Mom fed me three pieces of bread as a “treat”. I knew each little ball of bread held a stair-roid – I just knew it. THREE of them – twice a day for three days. So I’d had six pills before I went to bed. Then I had three more Monday morning. By late afternoon, I was drinking water by the gallons. Then I got three more pills around six o’clock, along with my supper.
At 7:21 p.m. Monday night mom remembered what stair-roids do to me when I (excuse my bluntness, but I’m a guy after all) peed in the hall, peed in the den, and peed in the kitchen. I also dribbled . . . everywhere. I lost all control. Mom would take me outside, and I would pee three or four times in five minutes. Ten minutes later she was rushing me outside to do it all over again.
At 9 p.m. mom called the vet. “Oh dear,” the vet said, “He must be super-sensitive to stair-roids.” Duh. You think? “Don’t give him any more of them,” she said. “Don’t even taper off. I gave him the dose I would normally give a 20-lb dog, so he doesn’t have that much in his system yet. I can’t believe that little bit is affecting him like that.” W – h – a – t – e – v – e – r.
Well, that was all just fine and dandy. But what about bedtime, which was fast approaching?
Mom put waterproof pads down on the floor next to the couch in the den for me and brought her pillow and a blanket out to the couch and made herself a little bed. She slept with one end of my leash attached to my collar and the other end wrapped around her hand. She did that so she could feel me move and know I needed to go out. It worked like a charm . . . except neither one of us got much sleep. I had to go out at midnight, at 1:45, at 2:40, at 3:25, at 4:30 and again at 5:00.
It took all day Tuesday and all day Wednesday for the stair-roids to get out of my system. We did the couch thing again Tuesday night, and I only had to go out four times instead of five, and I had almost stopped dribbling. Do you know how embarrassing that is! Mom bedded down on the couch Wednesday night for the third time, hoping it would be the last. But . . . with the stair-roids out of my system, the itch came back . . . . BAD. I woke mom up around 2 a.m. Thursday morning scratching like crazy, and by the time she got me stopped, I had scratched myself raw again and was bleeding.
Mom gave me a Benadryl, and we finally went to sleep an hour later. Thursday morning mom put me in one of those horrible halo cones. She didn’t do that at first ’cause it’s hard to keep it from rubbing on my ow-wee, but she said, “We’ve got to try it and see if we can stop you from scratching.” She also started me on another antibiotic, which the vet said would probably make me throw up ’cause I’m so sensitive to everything (well, she doesn’t have to get nasty about it).
Can you imagine what’s it like to want so badly to scratch something – and you CAN’T!
So now it’s Thursday night, and up until about an hour ago, we’d had a pretty good day. The stupid cone-thing drives me crazy, but mom is giving me Benadryl on a regular basis, so the itchies haven’t been too bad. So far (cross you fingers and toes), I haven’t gotten sick from the new antibiotic, but we probably aren’t out of the woods on that yet either.
But . . . . an hour ago, I’m sound asleep in the hall, and suddenly mom is saying, “Bear! Oh my gosh, let’s go out!” I had lost control again. In my sleep! What the heck!
Mom’s been on the computer since then, and she told me a few minutes ago she’d discovered that the powder the vet gave her to use on my ow-wee is ALSO a stair-roid. Oh dear.
Mom was hoping she’d get to sleep with dad again tonight, and I was hoping I’d get to sleep back in my cushy bed instead of on those stupid pee-pad things (the indignity of it all). Now it looks like we’ll be keeping each other company in the den again.
Mom said to thank all of you for your prayers, and we’d both appreciate you keeping them coming. Hopefully, by Monday, we’ll be able to talk about something more interesting than my allergies.
“Mo-om! I gotta go again!”