TALES: TOVA'S DIARY - Part 3
Tova's diary by Leon Adato
|On the eve of Tova's first heat,
(which we had been anticipating for over 6 months), Tova decided to show us
that heat was not such a problem, not such a mess. Especially when compared
I won't get into the gory details of it all, but I'm
happy that I have an airline-style crate, rather than the wire kind. For once,
LESS ventilation was a good thing.
However, what to do about
this was the question of the day. Well, it was the question for me. For my
daughter, the question of the day was "why does it smell so bad in here". For
my wife, the question of the day is mostly unprintable, and brings into serious
question my relationship with several common household kitchen tools.
After a call to the breeder... OK, really it was
1. Straining my back lifting the
crate and dog as a whole unit (I could have SWORN I said I was going to stop
2. Carrying it out to the
3. Soaking dog, owner, and crate
to the bone, while cleaning very little
4. Enduring continued whithering spousal statements about male-ness
in general and myself in particular
Assisting in renewed efforts to actually clean the mess while averting
near-disaster invoving a certain 2 1/2 year old and the aforementioned
After all that, I called the breeder who directed me to
buy kaopectate chewable tablets. Which I drove off to do while wife and
children left the house for the relative calm of a sale at K-Mart.
Now I should take a moment to mention that my wife's background is in
the medical field, while I spent 4 years and many thousand dollars in New York
pursuing a degree in Theater. My wife currently works in the field of medicine.
I currently work as a computer geek. This should translate to the reader in the
1. I can present a really entertaining rendition of the
class "DOS is your Friend"
2. You never
want me shopping for any medical supplies
So, although I was
explicitly instructed to purchase chewable tablets, I bought adult capsules
instead. Ignorant of this, I blythely proceeded home, toward certain disaster.
Up to this point, the only medical experience Tova and I had faced
together were visits to the vet (where, at most, I was asked to "sit in the
waiting room and not break things") and offering her the monthly HeartGuard
brick, which Tova, despite repeated doses, confuses for candy and snaps up,
occaisionally causing me to re-count fingers just to make sure.
Back in the garage, I happily (if somewhat cautiously) extended my
hand with the two caplets, figuring these would be confused, if not for crunchy
treats, then perhaps hard candy.
An unimpressed dog wanders away, eyeing the garden hose hanging on
the wall with suspicion.
Maybe she just needs a taste
to get her going. I jam a caplet past her front teeth, waiting to hear
satisfied crunching noises.
You know that "picky eater"
dog food commercial with the basset hound? The one where he spits the kibble
out and watches it riccochet around the kitchen?
Just like that, only now I
have a caplet-sized dent in my car.
Just as visions of syringes
begin to dance in my head, I remember an old trick I saw a girlfriend do in
high-school with her cocker-spaniel (no, not THAT trick!). I race inside and
grab the tub of peanut butter. Not just a regular tub, either. My wife shops
for *duration*, so these are the econo-size jobs.
Now I am faced with the
delimma of one pill or two. Opting to get the whole thing over with as quickly
as possible, I dunk both pills together into the peanut butter jar, coming up
with a plum-sized glorp of pb. Forcing Tova's mouth open with the other hand, I
skillfully jam the gooey mass into her mouth. Then I take both hands and hold
her mouth shut for a moment.
Two pearly white pills
clatter to the garage floor. I look irately at my dog, who sports a satisfied
smile to go with the peanut butter smeared over the left side of her face.
Remember, I used BOTH hands to hold her mouth shut.
Not content to
be stupid once, I decide to try again. So I pick up the (now pasty-wet) pills,
grab the container, and dunk again. Same result, except that the sound the
pills make on exit is now more of a "splut" that a "click".
I admit defeat,
spray down the half of the dog now covered in peanut butter, and go inside to
clean up the half of me now covered in peanut butter.
My wife returns
to survey the scene. It doesn't take long after "why are two pills missing from
this box?" for her to get the rest of the picture. With a smile that only
triumphantly superior wives can wear, she grabs a pill in one hand, the dog in
the other. It is not lost on me that peanut butter, or any other condiment for
that matter, is conspicuously absent. One pill goes to the back of the throat,
and the muzzle is gently held closed. While rubbing her throat, my wife croons
to the dog in the same voice she used to wake me up at 2:00am when our newborn
puppy was crying to go out. Gently, nicely, with just a hint of a razor blade
waiting in the wings. Tova rolls her eyes and gives a "Oh, you want me to
*swallow*! Why didn't you say so?" look, and ....gluck....down goes pill one.
Pill two goes even faster.
I now have a month's worth of
PBJ sandwiches to eat.