We are recovering from coughs and sneezles. A tree of paper tissues is used. A friend rings and recommends holding the nose and taking a tablespoon of cider vinegar. It is to clear nasal passages and tastes so disgusting it must be doing some sort of good.
Whatever irritating virus is doing the rounds it has made the chief go temporarily deaf. All that shooting in the army hasn’t helped his hearing over the years. But now it is as bad as I’ve seen it.
The MacGregor can hear me if he can see my face. Otherwise, I am pretty much talking to myself. Why Men Don’t Listen. Now there’s a good title for a book.
I do not wish to be unkind, but, apparently, the average male can only pay attention to a female voice for six minutes before he switches off. This lack of hearing is real. However, there are other pressing matters to deal with.
The MacNaughties are rarely ill, but when it happens, it happens big time. Like the time Barra the Cocker was put on an emergency drip after deciding to eat several handfuls of granular fertilizer.
Now Rummie the Norfolk is being constantly sick. My poor little dog has been losing weight for some weeks which is no bad thing. But when rather roly-poly becomes fearfully feather-light, I call the emergency vet.
Blood tests are done and are declared normal. All vital organs appear to be working. The verdict is that he has picked up some sort of infection. As he is now classed as an ‘older’ dog (nine this year) we must take no chances. Rummie gets three injections. One is an antibiotic. Another is to stop the retching and the last is some sort of vitamin jab.
My furry friend is not amused at being used as a pin cushion. Head is down, tail is down. There is misery all round. There is also a lot of sleeping going on, despite the older one’s efforts to make him perk up and play.
Rummie comes home with two tins of canine invalid food. These mix into a sort of soup for easy digestion and are packed with good things to nourish and build. They seem to do the trick.
Twenty-four hours later there is a commotion in the kitchen. The spaniel has tried to take advantage of weakness and sneak in to steal the terrier’s toy. Rummie is having none of it. A fight is good news when you think your doggie is down and out.
Now we must build him up again. There will be oodles of biscuits and lots of TLC. And that is just for the chief. A leaflet comes through the door advertising a new expensive-looking hearing clinic and I suggest we book a private appointment.
Miraculously the MacGregor can hear that one. He picks up the phone and makes an appointment to see the NHS doctor…
