The Spring Semester has been moving along rapidly. With only two days on the campus for a 7:45 a.m. developmental writing class that meets Tuesdays and Thursdays and writing center duty on one of those two days, Gracie and I have had plenty of time to break for long walks and to stay on top of the three other totally online classes we have this semester. Little snow this winter has made the commute easier than normal too.
The challenge for me Spring Semester--why it's called that is perplexing since most of it is during the hardest part of winter: January and February and much of March--is staying healthy. Taking vitamins and avoiding the white flour and sugar treats that the English department folks like to leave in the mail room for one another is about all I can do, though. It's really student contact that is the biggest health threat. This winter, I have been doing pretty well and have even managed to avoid the mega-cold that has felled both Bruce and Nate. Then, last night while I was fixing dinner, I noticed that Gracie looked odd. Her eyes seemed to have rolled back into her head. Her eyes were open; at least, they looked open. When I said her name, however, she snapped back and looked at me.
By the time I'd finished making dinner and Bruce had come downstairs to eat, Gracie looked even worse. I pulled the magnet from the vet off the fridge, and Bruce called the emergency number. We finished dinner; then took Gracie to the all night vet.
The all night vet is an odd place. Though no one seemed to be there other than the in-take person and a father-daughter duo with a sick black lab puppy, we were told that there was a fairly sizable line in front of us. We settled into the plastic waiting room chairs to wait, Gracie on my lap with her eyes half-closed and a pained look like she had a headache on her face. The flat-screen TV was tuned to the cable channel Animal Planet, and a program about different cat breeds was playing.
Finally, after a sizable wait, we were shown to an examination room where we waited some more. Eventually, a grizzled old vet came in and pried Gracie's eyes open. The diagnosis was conjunctivitis. The vet offered to do a tear test on Gracie as dry eyes is something that King Charles Spaniels are prone to get. Being late Saturday night--by that time--and being that this was the all night vet and not our regular vet, we declined the test. Instead, we opted for some drops. The vet put the first round in and we took the rest of the bottle home with us. A visit to the all-night vet is about as expensive as a trip to the emergency room for humans. Finding out that she wasn't having a seizure, hadn't eaten human antihistamine, or any of a miriade of other possibilities that crossed my mind, however, was priceless. I learned that acute means "comes on quickly and isn't chronic." I also learned that dogs have an inner eye membrane. Gracie's eyes weren't rolling back in head as I had thought they were; that inner membrane was closing. I also learned that she is a good patient and, though she clearly doen't like having drops put in her eyes, will let me put them there.
Today, Gracie is still under the weather but seems--at least for moments here and there--to be better if not her usual perky self. The whole episode has been a reminder of how important she is to me and how lost I would be should anything beyond my ability to fix were to happen to her. A sick dog is sad; a sick Gracie is tragic. I guess I'll never know how she happened to get an eye infection. "Just something in the air," advised Nate. But it seems to me that it has to be something less simple that that, something I can guard against having ever happen again. Still, if this does happen again, I will know what it is and what to do about it.
The challenge for me Spring Semester--why it's called that is perplexing since most of it is during the hardest part of winter: January and February and much of March--is staying healthy. Taking vitamins and avoiding the white flour and sugar treats that the English department folks like to leave in the mail room for one another is about all I can do, though. It's really student contact that is the biggest health threat. This winter, I have been doing pretty well and have even managed to avoid the mega-cold that has felled both Bruce and Nate. Then, last night while I was fixing dinner, I noticed that Gracie looked odd. Her eyes seemed to have rolled back into her head. Her eyes were open; at least, they looked open. When I said her name, however, she snapped back and looked at me.
By the time I'd finished making dinner and Bruce had come downstairs to eat, Gracie looked even worse. I pulled the magnet from the vet off the fridge, and Bruce called the emergency number. We finished dinner; then took Gracie to the all night vet.
The all night vet is an odd place. Though no one seemed to be there other than the in-take person and a father-daughter duo with a sick black lab puppy, we were told that there was a fairly sizable line in front of us. We settled into the plastic waiting room chairs to wait, Gracie on my lap with her eyes half-closed and a pained look like she had a headache on her face. The flat-screen TV was tuned to the cable channel Animal Planet, and a program about different cat breeds was playing.
Finally, after a sizable wait, we were shown to an examination room where we waited some more. Eventually, a grizzled old vet came in and pried Gracie's eyes open. The diagnosis was conjunctivitis. The vet offered to do a tear test on Gracie as dry eyes is something that King Charles Spaniels are prone to get. Being late Saturday night--by that time--and being that this was the all night vet and not our regular vet, we declined the test. Instead, we opted for some drops. The vet put the first round in and we took the rest of the bottle home with us. A visit to the all-night vet is about as expensive as a trip to the emergency room for humans. Finding out that she wasn't having a seizure, hadn't eaten human antihistamine, or any of a miriade of other possibilities that crossed my mind, however, was priceless. I learned that acute means "comes on quickly and isn't chronic." I also learned that dogs have an inner eye membrane. Gracie's eyes weren't rolling back in head as I had thought they were; that inner membrane was closing. I also learned that she is a good patient and, though she clearly doen't like having drops put in her eyes, will let me put them there.
Today, Gracie is still under the weather but seems--at least for moments here and there--to be better if not her usual perky self. The whole episode has been a reminder of how important she is to me and how lost I would be should anything beyond my ability to fix were to happen to her. A sick dog is sad; a sick Gracie is tragic. I guess I'll never know how she happened to get an eye infection. "Just something in the air," advised Nate. But it seems to me that it has to be something less simple that that, something I can guard against having ever happen again. Still, if this does happen again, I will know what it is and what to do about it.
