Several days ago…
Barely light. And so quiet. What is that smell? Movement in a corner, when I gasp – very sheepish tail wagging, ears flattening apologetically.
5.45 am. I don’t even know where to start. I can barely get out the door to the kitchen to don disposable gloves. No wonder the dog has seconded herself in that corner. 9 years with JD and her dodgy stomach, it’s never been this bad. The stench even creeps around my face mask, I want to gag.
As I’m getting paper kitchen towels my mum beats me to it. “I did this for Dot (one of her old mutt mongrels who died happy and super spaced-out) for 20 months when she got (too) old (to go outside). Sometimes she even fell in it. Get me some rags.” I forgot how dedicated my mum is to dogs. (Ok, also grandchildren.)
I feel terrible. My mum leaves the next day and she’s doing this. “This” takes up two giant old bath towels and two of Rockstar’s old winter under-shirts. Our bleary eyed helper arrives with Dettol and a mop. Thank goodness I booked my mum a two hour Chinese massage at a good spa for later in the day. She insists on clearing a second diarrhea incident before her spa treatment. I put half a tab of Lomotil down the dog’s throat and tether her to Kings’ desk to keep from any more drip-age in areas the kids might be.
While I’m dropping my mum off and the helper has gone to meet Rockstar at the bus stop, I get a frantic call from the nanny. “JD did it again, JD did it again! And (our helper) went out! She just went out!”
Sigh. And there’s blood. I call the vet with JD’s patient number.
“We can’t dispense antibiotics without seeing the animal, but if this doesn’t stop in a day she has to come in.” Sold. I first learned to syringe medications from the vet, btw – not say, pediatrician.
Then the vet sends me to the pet shop opposite for doggie diapers. It’s a place littered with well-groomed pooches in all sizes ostensibly “boarding,” but really, “playing shop” – you come in and they try to sell you everything in the place.
“For period, right?”
“Uh no, I have small kids in the place and she has diarrhea.”
“We don’t carry anything for that but you can use a baby diaper. Just cut a hole in it. Cheaper, too.” (Am I the only one who thinks it’s funny dog diapers cost more than baby diapers?) Except JD and Ms Rockstar probably don’t wear the same size.
Rummaging around, I find some of Rockstar’s (very) old diapers. Size M barely fits. JD’s hippy, and with thick curly hairs; most of the local border collies I’ve seen are sleeker-haired… She is btw, an Aussie product – still no idea how she ended up in Singapore from whence we found her.)
There now. Oh hang on, encore please.
Our helper even got pink (not blue) XL pull-ups. How come JD still doesn’t look happy…?
And Rockstar is very smug to be the only one of the three of them not in a diaper. Would’ve thought he’d be more smug about Lego Headquarters or reading achievements or something, but nooo……