Tuesday Finley had his heartworm test. I took him in to have one done right after I got him (in October), but the vet said that if he'd been infected over the summer, the test wouldn't come up positive for a few months, and recommended that we wait until springtime. I guess in the back of my mind I've spent all these months worrying that he would come up positive on the test, but fortunately, he is heartworm-free, yay.
He was a total nutcase at the vet's office. He was okay when there were only two dogs there. Then a third dog came in and he was like, "WTF! THREE DOGS! I HAVE TAKEN LEAVE OF MY SENSES." (Finley, honey? Just so you know, you live in a house with six dogs. Three is three less than status quo.) It really did not help that this was the first time in weeks that he got out of the house to go anywhere except the back yard, since we have all been laid up with The Plague for more or less all of March. The past few weeks are a feverish blur. In fact, there has not been a single day since my brother and his family moved in that we have spent healthy. I think they should slap a "Condemned" sticker on our front door, cordon off the block, and drop food packages in by helicopter.
Anyway, he was crazy. He was barking! He was pulling! He was acting like a doofus! Boy, I can't believe that I somehow missed enrolling in obedience classes this session. I kept looking in my inbox, waiting for the emails that said registration was open, and I never saw them, despite the fact that they were clearly labeled and SITTING RIGHT THERE. I blame the permafog of sickness. It's clouding my ability to think.
Once we got into the exam room, he was clearly scared. He didn't want to walk on the tile floor, and he panted and climbed on me and shed dandruff everywhere. I had to lift all 58.7 lbs of him onto the exam table, after which the vet drew the blood and we left.
On the way out, the waiting room was packed with dogs. Not even the hint of a reaction from him. He instead stuck his head in the trash can, looking for food-scented paper items. On our way out, we walked right past the two who were sitting by the door, and he completely ignored them. Go figure.
I also bought some lysine for my herpes-having foster kitty, who has had a permanant URI since he was a month old. Yesterday Mr Two Year Old and I went in to their bedroom, to dose up Snotty Pedro with the lysine. Of course, as soon as I opened the door, the cats ran out and Finley ran in. Cats, roaming the house! Finley, snacking on the contents of the litter pans! Empty food and water bowls! What to do? I left Fin to his own devices while I filled the bowls, thinking that the cats would come back as soon as they got food and water.
The cats came back, and I put Finley out of the bedroom, but only after he had managed to depoopify three or four litter pans. Ewwwww. But that is not the bad part, oh noooooooo. The bad part is that a few hours later, he came down to the living room and vomited up his stomach contents all over the living room carpet. Cat poop, bits of clay, bile, grass, wheat cereal that the kid fed him, and whatever it was he was eating out in the back yard, all mixed into an unpleasant lumpy paste and deposited on the carpet.
I have never in my life been so glad to have The Plague, because my nose is so stuffy that I couldn't smell any of it. I didn't even want to put the carpet shampooer over something so disgusting.
It's bad enough that they feel like they have to eat poop, but puking it all over our living room, that's just taking it too far.