Chloë gets physical.
I had my annual physical with my personal physician last week, and the results were both good and bad. Good news first: I am finally getting some medicines to control my two recurring maladies, ear infection (left ear worse) and skin rash. Dr. Kimmel prescribed antibiotic pills, gook for my ears, shampoo for my skin, the whole works. Hopefully this will get rid of this once and for all. If not, well, at least Heather gives me extra cheese treats after every treatment, so it’s not all bad.
Speaking of food, I got even better news from Dr. Kimmel. After I weighed in at a mere 16.95 pounds, well below my target weight of 18.5, which is exactly what I weighed a year ago. That means what Heather, Caroline, Charlie, Lynn and other people who really care about me have been saying for months was true: I am too skinny!!! That mean Mike is starving me, and Dr. Kimmel had the perfect prescription for that: “Bring Chloë’s morning meal to 3/4 cup while she is active to help maintain her weight.” It’s written right there in black and white under “Notes to Owner.” Got that, Mike?
Dining festival on tap.
So I’m going to get more food! When I heard that, I thought I had died and gone to heaven.
So after all that good news, what could be so bad? Well, after eight straight years of praising my exemplary dental hygiene, Dr. Kimmel discovered something no amount of brushing could have prevented: I chipped a tooth. (I can’t imagine how that happened! A bone? A stick? A plastic food container?) Unfortunately, this upper molar is one of the most important ones for chewing, which I’m planning to do a lot more of since my rations have increased. I’m going to need that tooth in the future, too, anticipating lots of joyful gnawing to come. I wouldn’t want to be without one of my major tools.
Being careful with chipped tooth.
The chipped tooth surprised Mike, whose attentiveness to my dental hygiene has impressed my doctor at every previous checkup. In his defense, the tooth was too far in the back of my mouth for him to see it, and if the exposed area was the source of any pain, I wasn’t showing it. Apparently dogs don’t complain about pain, facing it stoically to avoid showing weakness to predators and the rest of their pack. I’m not sure this veterinary truism applies to me, however, since I squeal like crazy if someone steps on my tail, I complain about almost everything and I whine every time I don’t get my way. It’s always easy to know where I stand.
Anyway, since the interior of the chipped tooth is exposed and possibly infected, treatment is required. The question was whether to try to save the tooth by doing a root canal operation and perhaps putting a cap on it later, or to extract it. The extraction, while less expensive, is more dangerous, as it could lead to bone loss in my jaw if the tooth’s roots are deep. Mike and Heather decided the root canal was the clear choice, so in a couple of weeks we’ll meet my doggie dentist and schedule the procedure. I foresee a lot of cheese after this one.
Please, sir, I want some more!
Meanwhile, I’m not having any trouble scarfing down the humongous bowls of food Mike is plopping down in front of me twice a day in an attempt to put some weight on this frail body of mine. I predict, however, that as soon as I get back to my target weight, Mike will cut back on this current largess, so I’ve got to enjoy every one of these lumberjack meals to the fullest. So far I seem to be doing a good job of it, judging from the changes in my daily bodily functions. Ironically, at the same time the size of the poop bags is shrinking, the frequency and size of my poop is expanding. Something’s got to give.