The contents of half a 12kg bag of Pedigree dry dog food.
That's right. Yes. I shall put you out of your misery/suspense right now, unlike what has just happened to me over the past two hours of sheer agony as I waited on news.
When we arrived, they took one look at her and soberly led me to a tiny waiting room for one. The kind of waiting room that has a one-way arrow on it. Down the back. Closest to the .... well, I don't even want to imagine. And I cried. I cried and cried, as silently as I could. Then the vet came. Explained to me that they needed to listen to her heart. Each possibility was worse than the last - cancerous tumours, or heart failure, or .. oh I can't remember, something or other else. I began to accept that Pep had lived to see her last weekend. I told the vet, "Well, whatever it is, I have to take her home. I just cannot do that to my four year-old, she needs to say goodbye tomorrow." The vet gave no such reassurance that she would let me keep her to that promise. After a good 10 minutes or so, waiting on my own, the vet came back and said that there was so much body cavity noise (and breathing, oh the noisy breathing! as I type this, it is drowning out the tv) and that they needed to take an xray.
So I waited. I waited a whole hour and nobody even came to give me an update. It was good in a way. It gave me time to properly, honestly let her go. I told her that on Monday - I looked her square in the eyes and told her, through my tears, that she really could go if this was it. But I discovered tonight, waiting, that a small piece of me had been lying. So I sat there and contemplated Pepper's life and time with us. With me. All those days at home together. In the sun, at the beach, on my bed (ho, yes, the night before my wedding and I was nervous and couldn't sleep, it was Pep who consoled me as I tried to go to sleep on my own for the first time in years).
And then, out came the vet. "Her lungs are remarkably fine. Her heart, from what we can see and hear, is okay, although she is under enormous pressure right now..... She has an awful lot of food in there, what has she eaten???"
"Nothing!" I replied, shocked. I had been sitting there getting worried that my poor old girl would be getting starving by now, well after her pensioner tea-time and having had no meal for the day... But then, "Wait a minute.... I found a broken bag of dog food outside this morning...."
Turns out, my 17 year old, can't-walk-for-falling-over dog had worked on the plastic outer bag of the new dog food I bought them and apparently used it as A CHAFF BAG all night last night. Hence, she looked like Violet Beauregarde.
To say I am immensely embarrassed about racing in here in a flat panic a couple of hours ago is an understatement. And I couldn't let the night pass with any more of you incredibly kind folk out there worrying about us, or reading the previous entry and becoming sad.
She is incredibly old. She has acute deterioration going on. But she is not uncomfortable... well, save for this self-mutilating act of gluttony. She is mighty uncomfortable right about now, but that will pass. Literally. Hopefully. I mean, how can you not have some issues if you have gone from 18kg to 25.5kg in a day? I wince at the thought. And she has to have a blood test ASAP so we can clear her for starting on medication to help with her incontinence.
My Finding Pepper In Her Forever Slumber Under The Lemon Tree hope is still alive! Thank you for your care and kindness, I really truly needed it and knew you were with me as I sat there, blubbering at the vets. I'm so emotionally drained right now.
Pepper lives to wheeze - and fart like a beauty - another day. And all I can say is, I'm glad I'm not sharing a tent with her tonight. Phewwww-eee.
But seriously.... CAN YOU BELIEVE IT WAS THAT??!! Food. Shaking my head. Laughing. Crying. Going insane.
