We just celebrated two years with Gilfoyle, and I have to say that while the little dog is an asshole, he is an endearing one. Chicks dig him especially, but men also respect his demeanor. He has that certain something, and even as his social skills improve, he will always be an asshole. Perhaps that is to be expected from a ten-pound dog bred to move cattle around.
A few weeks ago we were at the vet for routine stuff, and she spent an unusual amount of time listening to his heart. Something wasn’t right. Experts were consulted, measurements were taken, and all is not well with Gilly’s little ticker.
On Monday the Official Sweetie of Muddled Ramblings and Half-Baked Ideas took him in to have a heart-monitoring rig strapped to his body, so the vet could get a good reading on his heart in more normal circumstances.
Gilfoyle handled the visit well, and consented to having a lot of his lush fur shaved off while it was installed. When I go home from work I found this:
He hardly noticed the rig at all, except when he was cutting corners too closely. Official Sweetie kept a diary of events that might be of interest when looking at the data: “3:20 p.m.: Squirrel; 5:40 p.m.: UPS delivery.”
A day later it was time to remove the heart monitor. About noon I called from work with some rather good news, and OSMRHBI didn’t react at all. She was not in a good place.
It was the tape, you see. The vet, carefully following the letter of the instructions, had used a particular very sticky tape to affix the sensors to the poor little guy. When I called, Official Sweetie had just spent an agonizing amount of time trying to peel the tape off a frightened, hurt, confused, betrayed dog.
The title of this episode may be deceptive; Gilfoyle has recovered from the trauma, although he still has stripes of adhesive in his fur. The Official Sweetie, being cursed with a remarkably good memory and a wonderfully big heart, will take a little longer to recover from the episode.
And now we wait for the data to be loaded up and analyzed by the experts. Gilfoyle has been downright spry lately, still improving after a couple years of normal dog life. I’m not sure what his life was like before he joined our family, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t normal.
Of course I’ll let you all know what the prognosis is when Gilly’s numbers are crunched – at least I will if it’s still Blogtober.
