Hello everyone; once again it is I, Chess the purebred border collie, here to tell you we are experiencing technical difficulties. Our internet connection has been kind of intermittent lately, and the guy I live with said if I start to do a post, it’ll probably go out again.
Just to let you know. Please stand by.
Thanks; the guy I live with says it’s working now, but it wasn’t this morning, then it was, then it went out for an hour this evening.
Perhaps you’re experiencing Weather. Or perhaps Sunflare beamed directly at your estate. Could happen. We understand. I do sense up pent-up communication on your part, though, Chess. May your difficulties end soon.
Thanks; the guy I live with expressed his frustration with my unwillingness to eat this morning. I finally did eat, the dehydrated raw turkey is pretty good, but the guy I live with says he’s going to consult with a “border psycolliegist”. (That’s isn’t as funny as he thinks it is.) I keep trying to tell him that all the hammering (new roofs) in the neighborhood sounds like tiny little thunderclaps, but he just says “eat”. Our internet is on, for the moment. I think you can tell.
Tell your guy to make you some Angus beef burgers with brie.
Thanks; it turns out I don’t like beef very much, according to the guy I live with. I’m getting very picky in my old age.
Question is how much the new drug regimen suppresses your appetite, Chess. One extreme to another? But he’s right, the guy you live with: EAT. And “border psycolliegist” is too funny.
One extreme to another. You know, when my buddy Slipper was really sick, the guy I live with became part border collie (so he says), but he also says that the part that isn’t border collie doesn’t know what’s going on. I did eat today, though I behaved, in his words, like a two-year-old human, and so now he’s going to talk to my doctor tomorrow. The dehydrated raw chicken is pretty good, I admit. Doesn’t that sound yummy? Here’s a funny story, that’s kind of like me. When the guy I live with was a kid in Long Beach, waaay back in the 1950s, it was the fashion to make kids sit at the dinner table until they’d eaten everything. Like for hours. One of the neighbors noticed an awful smell in their kitchen, and it took them a long time to discover that their kid had been shoving vegetables down the hollow metal leg of the kitchen table.
I thought “border psycolliegist” was funny! When one of my cats got old and fussy and gave me sad puppy eyes every time I served him a meal that did not meet his standards, my vet told me to put a little garlic on his Friskies. Cat appetites are stimulated by smell, and maybe my old guy wasn’t eating because he couldn’t catch a whiff of the entree … maybe garlic could work for pure bred border collies. Or maybe just a stinky cheese hors d’ouvre would do the trick. I remember the clean-your-plate rule. My little sister discovered that she could spit a fair amount of her veggies into her glass of milk without detection, and then she’d volunteer to clear the table and load the dishes into the dishwasher to better elude the big sisters who would have ratted her out in a heartbeat.
Brie works pretty darn well, I must say, though I only get that, and part-skim mozzarella, around my pills, because I don’t want Pill Pockets any more. The guy I live with, who calls himself a “failed vegetarian” (although he blames a lot of that on the utter perversity of a certain wonderful South Indian vegetarian restaurant to locate itself where there are apparently lots of people from India within short driving distance, rather than over on this side of town, where he is) says that the nexus between being forced to eat one’s vegetables and having to hide under desks at school in case an H-bomb fell on the school is pretty evident. At least to him. I did eat some breakfast, just to make him happy.
Pill pockets only worked for a few days with one of my cats.
I agree with Vivian about intensifying the smell of the food. Try broth over the food.
Also, when did you last get your teeth cleaned? Tooth infections can generally infect your whole system.
You know what it probably is? The goofballs probably made me ravenously hungry, and the guy I live with just thought I was being gluttonous and spoiled. Now that I’m going off them, my appetite has changed. I did eat some, this morning. I see my doctor this week anyway. The moral of this story is to pay attention to things. Neither of us like stories with morals. Like that bumper sticker that says “Oh no, not another learning experience.”