Bug Tails - "Update - The Stray Dog"

A little more than seven weeks ago, a stray dog entered the lives of my wife and me. We initiated the appropriate "found dog" notices, and when no claims were eventually made for the dog, we concluded that our home would become his too. During that period, my wife, Barbara, gave the young corgi the name of "Rusty" due to the color of his coat of hair. I began to call him by "Bug"; short for bed bug. He liked to jump up on the bed two or three times each night and wander around on my body. So I thought "Bug" to be appropriate.

Having made the decision to keep the dog, we took him to the local Veterinarian for a "dog physical". Rusty (Bug) was diagnosed with heartworm disease; his heart enlarged with the affliction. Well, no choice for us, we opted for treatment.

Following Rusty's three day ordeal of shots and other tests at the Vet's clinic, we went to pick him up and were told then by the Vet, "It is critical that he be kept extremely quiet for at least the next four to six weeks. If not, he can easily die." Okaaay.

Taking seriously the Vet's advice and other instructions, we purchased a wire dog crate, lots of toys for in the crate, bedding and so forth. For the past five weeks that crate has been Rusty's small world. Ours too, in many respects.

Let's go back toward the beginning for a moment.

When Rusty first came to us, I posted here on my blog a short story describing his arrival. The story contained a bit of fiction so I requested critiques of the story. You were all very polite. By email, however, it was suggested to me that I rewrite the story as a dark flash-fiction for submission over at Tribe's. Good idea, I thought. Taking the suggested ideas for the story, I started to write a dark flash-fiction about the dog. Couldn't finish it. You see, I believe in the power of prayer and I also believe in the power of our thinking. Accordingly, it wasn't in me to write a dark story about the young corgi, especially under the circumstances. Sorry.

Back to the present.

Yesterday morning, early, we took Rusty (Bug) back to the Vet for a follow-up treatment (oral this time), and another "dog physical". When we went to pick him up in the evening, we were told by the Vet, "He's done very well. Keep him in low gear for a couple more days then you can let him shift into any gears he wants. He's again a healthy young dog." Thank you, God.

Last night I lie in bed on my stomach, reading a book and eating a Popsicle. My pillow was wadded under my chest and I had laid my book open on the bottom sheet. FRUMP, I heard and felt Bug jump up on Barbara's side of the bed. He trotted over by my head and, PLOP, dropped a dog biscuit onto the open pages of the book I was reading. Bug lie down on his belly, at the top of my shoulder, then proceeded to eat his biscuit. I was still eating the Popsicle.

While we each enjoyed our respective treats, I said to Bug, "Heh, during the day I write the pages of Placemat Crumbs, and here in the night you are making crumbs on the pages I'm trying to read. I'm glad I didn't write those pages about you for Tribe's."