After leaving the doctor’s feeling optimistic and in order, I came home today to find Rufus with a red, swollen eye. I figured that the two dogs had been wrestling and Yoko had managed to scratch his eyelid. I was upset but Max had a look and consoled me that it would be all right, being an owner of numerous clumsy cats. However, a few hours later, I went to see him again and it had gotten worse. I called up the Sydney University veterinary clinic but they were closing, so I booked him in first thing tomorrow morning. I think it’s infected as pus or something yucky is coming out of it. He was licking his paw and rubbing his eye, making it worse, so Max fashioned a home-made Elizabethan collar with some green cardboard for him. I’ve never seen such a miserable dog.
Since then, I’ve separated the dogs, given Rufus lots of treats and cuddles, hand-fed him a chicken neck and let him sleep on my lap. It’s such a strange reaction, the way we sympathise for the sick or injured. It’s beyond giving them the care or medical attention for the actual disease or wound, we feel compelled to give them extra affection to compensate for their suffering as well. I remember when I was a child, sick at home in bed instead of making trouble at school. Sometimes being sick was such a joy, the special treatment and kindness, far outweighing the discomfort of a cold or stitches. I can only hope that this mutt’s thinking the same thing now, showered with all this attention, although he’s probably more concerned as to how he can get to his balls.
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