I was awakened last night by the honks of a maddened goose, or perhaps a bull elephant, in bed next to me. (I know, but I'm a single lady, so I was a little taken aback.) It was my sweet Annie, who was either trying to vomit up something truly dreadful, or suffering from aspiration pneumonia from all the recent pills.
So off we went to the vet this morning with Pete in tow as well, as he likes to come along for the fun of it and we never waste a walk.
Even though she had done some excellent honking in the waiting room, Annie wanted to be at her best for Justin (the very handsome vet tech) and clammed up on the table. But the vet, from the noises she had overheard as we came in, and in the absence of busted guts or pill-filled lungs, declared kennel cough. She asked how’s Pete, I said just perfect as I gave him an encouraging thump on the ribs, and gaack, blergh, honk. So she wrote two prescriptions, and told me that this was a courtesy visit. Life is good.
Then she removed some of the rosy from my day by saying that we would be contagious for about three weeks, even after they’re done whooping it up.
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