Illustration by Jenny Lamont
In which DD highlights the weird things we as animal lovers find ourselves doing...
Our little Sammy Bear is thirteen years old, and recently, a few days after a bath, I noticed a somewhat funky smell wafting from the region of her ears. That can only mean one thing: ear infection. Of course, I immediately blamed myself. Maybe I’d gotten a little water in her ears, or maybe I hadn’t blow-dried them enough… Either way, as per usual when anything goes wrong with my girl, it sets me into a major mommy panic.
Thus followed a late-Friday evening of WhatsApp messaging my trusted Maltese Poodle-owned friend, Elodie, and the trusty vet for advice, while holding myself back from leaping into the car and zooming off to the emergency clinic.
Truth be told, the little sock-hoarder herself didn’t seem bothered by her ears at all (thankfully). But I could smell something wasn’t right. She must have thought I was mad as, over the next few days, I fussed over her like a mother hen, cleaning her ears and constantly creeping up to her as she slept and scaring the bejeebies out of her simply to sniff her ears. The Dad had, on instruction, dashed out at the crack of dawn to purchase the vet-recommended ear cleaner, which, after just one go, DID make Sammy fuss with her ears, so I promptly stopped that and went with my momma’s gut-feel and a more natural remedy… which worked.
After a few days of should I-shouldn’t I (go to the vet), it all came right on its own. What a relief, I tell you! (You do know that, if it were anything more serious or alarming, I would have been off to the vet quicker than Sammy can steal socks!)
Ai, it’s only lately that I’ve noticed a certain “old girl”-ness about her, and it makes me feel so sad. She isn’t quite as bouncy out of the bed when we wake, or, at least, is more eager to get straight back into it once she’s had her morning wee and frisked The Dad of his socks. She gets grouchy when her routine is tampered with and has become a little more demanding (giggle – as if that’s possible!).
I find myself watching her every move, and when we’re outside, she must think it strange to have “The Momma” following closely behind like her very own private investigator to see what she’s doing and, if it’s a “number two”, to head on over and check it… as one does. MPP (Mommy on Poo Patrol) – it’s just what we do, right?
Sammy might not understand it all and may well think her momma’s downright loopy (and yes, she could be spot on with that), but I do what I do because I love her and, as I always remind her, I’m totally here for her. Smelly ears, socks and all.