Tuesday morning started out pretty much the same way most Tuesday mornings start out. I got up, fed Henri, let him outside and proceeded to get ready for work. Henri comes in from outside and realizes he is tracking in what I first thought was mud, later discovered in was poop, but that detail is not really that important to the story. Either substance that was tracked in, Henri came and set next to me, seemingly very nervous. I think that he's upset that he tracked something in or thinks I'm upset with him rather, which I am not. I hardly care at all, not even cleaning it up right away as I am getting ready to for. I look at him a moment later and he is salivating profusely, as if I am dangling a slice of pizza in front of him. This stirs me into action. I start talking to him, asking what is wrong, telling him it's okay that he dragged mud in, grab a paper towel to wipe off his mouth, then clean up the mud...oh yes, it's poop. He doesn't salivate any more, but he still sticks very close to me. I don't know what's wrong with him. I can't see anything. He isn't telling me anything. He's just not himself!
I'm watching him as I continue to get ready to work, trying to decipher what he might be trying to tell me, but failing. The vet doesn't open for another hour and a half. I'm not taking him to the emergency vet. He's just being weird, even for a weird dog. I'm trying to decide what to do. He knows it's time for me to leave and he gets a treat when I leave. He's a dog of routine and he can get impatient. Now I don't know if he's being weird or if he's just waiting for me to leave. I wake my husband and one, I just woke him up. He isn't thinking clearly, but he does mention that Henri might have swallowed part of a squeaker after I went to bed (This is why I have rules about playing with certain toys unsupervised!) Okay, but he ate fine, he's just being weird. Maybe he is just waiting for me to leave, so I went to work, giving him his much anticipated treat and trying not to choke on my tears as I say 'good-bye'. (Yes, I made sure to say, "I love you." That's probably what killed me.)
I start getting texts shortly after getting to work. He is still acting weird. He is staying close by, but still, that's all he's doing. So, I call the vet and, of course, there isn't much they can do without seeing him and even then, are they going to be able to help? Who knows, but now I'm going home and getting him, taking him to the vet and staying with him for the morning until my husband can get some work to work on from home. The vet checks him out, says to watch for vomiting and gives us some anti-nausea medicine.
Despite the beautiful mid-fifties weather, no run, obviously.
By Tuesday evening, Henri is much more himself. He eats fine, he isn't throwing up and he wants to play with his toys. Possible crisis averted.
Strange noises in the middle of the night are coming from Henri's bed, but he must have been dreaming. As soon as we say his name, the noises stop.
Wednesday morning, Henri seems to be better. the daily routine starts and Henri is whining at me, like I cannot move fast enough to get to feeding him. This isn't exactly abnormal, but it makes much more sense when I walk downstairs to find that he has thrown up overnight (He's hungry!) and there, in two humongous pieces, is the squeaker. The whole squeaker (minus the little part that always pops out, which I find is actually the only part that was found after Henri may have eaten some squeaker)! Well, at least it's out. Feed me, Seymour! - says Henri.
Another beautiful day, and Henri had been so spy the night before, I'm planning on a run. I get home and start to change, telling Henri we're going for a run. This is the whole point of this story. I tell him, "We're going on a run! Do you want to go on a run? Do you feel okay? If you don't, that's okay. You just have to tell me and we will not go on a run." Henri gets up on the bed, lies down and looks sad. Okay. I asked. He said no. Why couldn't he have told me what was wrong the day before this easily? I'm just amazed at how well he communicates (and how well I listen. Come on, I get some of the credit)!
He must have felt better today. He was up for a run. We were able to go out for a run, in the 60 degree weather in the middle of December. What!?
