After *the* most glorious weekend ever, I spent the day in the veterinarian’s office with my dog Peanut. She’s a dachshund Corgi mix, buff-colored, 9 years old, and the sweetest dog ever. She has impeccable taste in reading people…the people she likes, she brings her toys to. The people she doesn’t trust, she ignores. She gives wise counsel.
Well, Peanut has diabetes and perhaps a liver condition. It all kicked up at the end of last week, and now the verdict is in: I will learn on Wednesday how to give my dog insulin shots. She’s a champ, has always taken shots like a pro (even the blood sample collections from her throat), so the problem in the scenario will be me. It’s going to become second nature, I know, to give her her shots every day, but I’m dreading the first pierce.
I’m happy to find out that it’s not life-threatening (so I can stop eating Pillsbury cookies to numb the nerves), but today’s been one long worry…she’s home now, resting after feasting on the bacon that J. brought over for her and only threw up half of said bacon.
So wish me luck on Wednesday for my insulin lesson…