Melancholy Dog

While we were in Las Vegas, our dog Rey stayed with our dogsitter. She’s been taking care of Rey since we got him and is just about the best person you could hope for to take care of your pet. She’s a professional dogsitter/walker, she’s insured and bonded, and she’s a dog person to her core. When we go to her house, Rey gets super excited as we approach because he knows he’s about to get a lot of attention and trips to the park.

When we got back and I went to pick Rey up, the dogsitter said he was “melancholy” and that she’d asked him what was wrong (that’s how much of a dog person she is) but didn’t get an answer. She said he hadn’t eaten much or even wanted to get in her bed to sleep at night, which he usually does. It had been raining, and he’s not a dog who likes the rain, so I thought maybe that was part of it but didn’t really worry too much.

When we got home, though, it was clear something was going on. He wasn’t his usual spunky self. He wouldn’t eat or drink, didn’t run to the door with his tail wagging when we got home, couldn’t be bothered to move too much, didn’t go out to go to potty. It was weird and worrisome. I gave it about a day and a half and when he still wasn’t any better last night, I resolved to take him to the vet. It being Christmas Eve, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get a spot, but fortunately, I was able to secure an appointment and off we went this morning.

Have you ever had car or computer trouble, and then when the expert came to diagnose the issues, the expert couldn’t replicate it? That’s sort of what happened this morning. We got to the vet and Rey got busy sniffing everything. He was friendly and sweet to everyone we encountered. When the vet came in, she took his temperature (no fever) and palpated his stomach (no issue). She checked him for dehydration, said he was fine. She gave him a treat and he gobbled it up… Followed by another two treats and some water. When we went outside, he peed on a bush and trotted over to get into the car when he was done.

I’m not sure what the issue was, but it appears he’s fine. I’m thankful for that, but it has gotten me thinking. He’s 10 years old — that’s 70 in dog years — so it’s not like he’s a spring chicken. I’ve always rolled my eyes a bit at people who refer to their pets as their babies, but the truth is, Rey is my companion and I would miss him terribly if… when… he dies. It looks like he’ll be around to celebrate another Christmas, though, and to enjoy the chew toy I got him for the occasion. It’s a Christmas miracle!