“Did I just pee?”

Me on the telephone with the Vet last week: “Hey Doc, you know this cough suppressant you prescribed for Olive? It’s probably a muscle relaxant, isn’t it?” Doc: “Yes, why?” Me: Because I’ve been doing more laundry than Cinderella the past few days. Apparently every time Olive falls asleep…wherever she falls asleep…her bladder empties. Completely. As in the Hoover Dam has been drained.” Doc: “That will stop about three days after you stop using the medication. You can wean her off it if she’s not coughing.” I look over at a subdued but no longer miserable Olive. “You need to stop coughing sooner rather than later,” I say. And so began Olive’s treatment for “tracheobronchitis.” The only saving grace is that I caught it early enough when it was just in her throat. It never made it to her lungs, which could be dangerous because it can cause pneumonia. It all started with a thought that pushed its way into my consciousness about two weeks ago. Why is Olive so quiet? I wondered. Hardly a peep out of her and she loves to “talk.” Weimaraners love to hear themselves speak. They would make great carnival barkers. (Pun actually unintended) And then I hear a faint whispery bark. Am I crazy? I wonder. Did she just sound hoarse? I consider the options for a nanosecond and decide that this must mean that she barked her head off while she was at camp. I go back about my business. By the next day, she starts “hacking and gagging,” as though she is choking on something. It seems a little odd, because when I inspect her mouth (with the delicate touch of a burly plumber), there’s no foreign object to be found. Whatever, I think. Maybe she just choked on saliva which is what I tend to do a lot now that I am over-ripening with age. And then the hacking and gagging continued. No, this is just not right I think. “Guess what Olive? We’re going to the Vet today.” Sure enough, she’s diagnosed with this dinosaur-like sounding condition; a form of what’s commonly referred to as “Kennel Cough.” While Olive had her Bordatella shot months ago to protect her from the KC Cooties, it’s not foolproof. It’s like the flu shot that humans get. Just because you get the vaccine, doesn’t mean you won’t get the flu. Olive was also placed on Clavamox (antibiotics). This too has a side effect I was unaware of. Me on telephone to Doc again: “Yeah, Doc, Olive is starting to act like a feral dog around food. I mean more so, than the usual weimaraner food-whoreishness. Like she’s a zombie that hasn’t eaten since World War 1. RIGHT AFTER SHE’S EATEN DINNER. Could the antibiotics be doing this to her? I’m afraid that when I go to sleep, I might wake up like that little girl in ‘Night of The Living Dead,’ who chomps on her dead father’s arm.” Doc: (Chuckles). Yes, the antibiotic contains prednisone and that is what’s probably stimulating her appetite. This will go away after you finish the course of treatment.” Olive stands in the doorway, staring at me while I’m on the phone. Her eyes seem to be glowing blood-red, and I think she may be drooling somewhat excessively. The four-legged zombie approaches. Me: “Thanks Doc, I have to go now. Zombie Olive is calling me.”