One of the best things about animals is their inability to talk. It is such a relief not to have to deal with a whole line of chatter when you walk in the door after a long day. Just give me a lot of tail wagging and ecstatic panting and yelping and maybe a slight loss of bladder control and I’m happy.
But when your animal is sick you want her to talk to you, tell you where it hurts and how you can make it better.
Boomer is a crap magnet. If there is a 3-week-old chicken bone in the grass, or a moldy chocolate cupcake, or the crust of a pizza, or some old wad of gum, or half-decomposed dead rabbit, she will find it and eat it in one gulp.
Two days ago, walking through campus, she “gulped” something, and all day today she’s been on the couch, with no tail wagging or begging for table scraps or trying to get me to take her for extra walks.
I just want one paragraph out of her mouth. One paragraph. 6 sentences. I want her to tell me how she feels.