I got up late (it was 7) and went downstairs to make a pot of coffee. As soon as the coffee finished brewing, I knew I wasn't going to drink it. I felt terrible.
Since I knew that Gregg had taken care of the cats before he left for work, I slid open the dog door to let out the dog, gave him some breakfast, put in his eyedrops, sprayed his hotspot, then headed for the stairs.
"Let's go back to bed, Ray," I said.
Ray, who had been flopped in the front hall, immediately got to his feet and rushed to follow me. I made sure to stay in front of him. I wanted to be able to lay claim a sliver of the kingsized bed before Ray took control of it. He has a way of spreading across the entire thing that prohibits anyone else from getting comfortable.
I barely had time to crawl under the covers before Ray had jumped up and made his way across the bed. He turned a few circles and curled up, plopping his 70-pound bony frame half on mine. I groaned and moved away a bit, my sliver of bed becoming even sliverier. I fell instantly asleep.
During my day of misery, Ray stayed curled against me, only getting up once to growl ominously and rush downstairs to yell at the front door.
But then four o'clock rolled around; Ray's dinner time. Ray stood on the bed and started whining. I remained immobile, still wrapped in my cloak of pain.
Ray jumped off the bed and whined some more. I didn't respond. He half-heartedly picked through the trash next to the nightstand. He got no reaction. Ray wandered onto the stair landing and stood, whining. Nothing. No one paid any attention to the poor, blind, hungry hound.
I heard Ray wander down the hall to the cat room and scratch at the cat room door. (I don't know what he expected Hugo to do). He whined some more. Still no food appeared. I heard him head down the stairs and heard a scratch at the front door. No help arrived from the outside.
Ray retreated back up the stairs and stood on the landing whining. I drifted off to sleep to the sound.
By the time Gregg got home from work, Ray was once again asleep on the bed, devotedly curled against me, resigned to his fate of starving to death with me at his side.
Saturday, June 8, 2013
Devoted until Dinner
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Oh bless him, I did wonder how he coped with a sick mom, now we know....resignedly...and stoically....poochy hero !ReplyDelete
I think it helped that it was a rainy, rainy day. All day long it poured. So he wasn't feeling too bad about not going for his usual walkies.Delete
Oh my goodness - so sorry you were sick! Hope you're better soon!ReplyDelete
It certainly is a weird virus. Two days sore throat, one day death's door, one day semi-recovery, now a MONSTER cold. This is for the birds. (Maybe it's a bird flu...)Delete
(Wo)man's best friend :0]ReplyDelete
Looking forward to the next post where we hear how Ray manoeuvred a kitchen chair, searched through a cupboard & unlocked a tin of grub
Wouldn't surprise me in the least. Except chairs and stools are tricky for blind hound. Rummaging through cupboards, however, a walk in the park.Delete
It's impressive, that despite being at deaths door, you still managed to keep loyal blog fans updated and entertained at the same time !ReplyDelete
Yes, I am amazing.Delete