After our excellent walk on Sunday, Buddy had a delicate problem in the evening. How can I put this? Aromas of a most unpleasant nature emanated from his vicinity. Poisonous miasmas if you will. Wind. Gas. Call it what you want, it had us running for cover, wafting it away with a magazine, and opening windows. Yes, it was pretty horrible.
Then several times he came over to me and just stood beside me, regarding me with sad eyes. Usually when he comes to me it is in high spirits. He wiggles against me, wagging his tail, snaking back and forth, demanding that I respond. It is a celebration of our relationship, and a reinforcing of it all at the same time. I mentioned to Anthony that I thought he was feeling poorly, and he dismissed it as me projecting onto him, but I knew something was up.
Both dogs had dinner, and then it was bedtime, but unusually, Buddy refused to settle on his bed. He came to my side of the bed, still eyeing me, hangdog style. I fussed him briefly, and mildly said, "Go and get on your bed." He retreated as far as the end of the bed, and treated me to a really mournful expression. Then he went and sat in the hall, every so often whining softly. This may sound like nothing, but Buddy is a gentle dog who will simply sit and wait for you to notice that he wants something. Star is vocal, physical and repetitive; Buddy is longsuffering and patient. So the fact that he was making a noise meant he really wanted to go out.
So I got wearily out of bed, put his collar back on and let him out into the garden. I went along with a torch to keep an eye on proceedings. He wandered around for a while, then peed and pooed and we wandered back inside - mission accomplished! Oh no it wasn't. When I offered him a biscuit on returning inside, he took it and spat it out. That really is absolutely unheard of for Buddy. I was worried, and felt all over his stomach, but all was normal.
Back in the bedroom, he still refused to settle, and stood at the end of the bed balefully staring my way. After fifteen minutes I took him out again. I had expected and even hoped, that he would do that typical doggy thing of frantically eating grass, throwing up and being all better, but no, this time he wandered aimlessly. Then he stood still, regarding me as if to say, "What shall I do now?" I do wonder if he thought the thing that was making him feel ill could be left in the house if he went outside.
We had another trip outside, with similar behaviour, and by now it was 2.00a.m. and I was worn out. I fell into bed, and almost immediately asleep. When I woke to pop to the bathroom at five o'clock, Buddy accompanied me, and while I washed my hands, I heard the patter of his feet into the kitchen, and the crunching noise of him eating the biscuit he had earlier discarded. He was obviously feeling better.
In the morning, he seemed himself so I took him on a gentle walk, during which he chose to run about and explore with his usual energy, then returned home to wolf his breakfast down. I am none the wiser as to what the problem was, I just know something was wrong, and he wanted comfort, which I tried to give. And that's life with a dog I guess. You can each communicate a certain amount to the other; the rest is about providing as much comfort as possible.