Poor Little Fella Hasn't Been Wella

Puppy Jack has been sick. So ill that I even thought about taking him to the vet, on Friday afternoon, right after I'd returned home with a fresh 44 oz Diet Coke, and was in the midst of making myself a chicken caesar wrap.

He came to the side porch to greet me, but held back when I leaned in for a hug. Held back, shaking violently as if having a seizure, then sniffed his handful of cat kibble and broke into an awkward trot around the porch to the front of the house. Hick saw him pooping (though he said nothing came out) and vomiting white foam in the front yard. Then he (Puppy Jack, not Hick--wouldn't THAT have been a great way to keep HIM out of my hair) crawled under the Little Barbershop of Horrors and wouldn't come out all day. Which kind of put the kibosh on the vet visit idea. You can read more details here if you're so inclined.

Anyhoo...by Saturday, Jack was getting around again and acting like he had his appetite back. He wasn't back to 100% hyperactivity like normal. He still looked a little pitiful.

Jack was a bit weak and listless, not even trying to hump the tan-striped cat under the front porch pew, as is his habit after his evening snack. He made a half-hearted attempt with his favorite same-sex inter-species object of desire, but you could tell that his heart wasn't in it. Here's a picture. NO! It's NOT fleabag pr0n. Just a look at Stockings the cat.

To be fair...Stockings is a master of seduction. He walks up to Jack and rubs his head under Jack's chin and along his shoulders. Jack licks the back of the neck and ears of Stockings, and after that foreplay, he gets right to it. Except that Stockings sometimes sits down and tolerates it, but often walks away mid-hump, only to turn around and nuzzle his head at Jack again, sometimes even chirping at him if Jack's attention wanders to what the neighbor dog is doing in the yard, or whether Hick is headed toward the Gator.

On Saturday evening, Jack walked up to Stockings and poked him in the shoulder with his nose, trying to herd him into the proper position, I guess. Stockings was not in the mood, and reached out his right paw to touch Jack's nose, like a tough guy lining up his punch on one of those bar machine punching bags, then swatted Jack across the muzzle in slow motion. Stockings is not the energetic sort, and used to weigh about 20 pounds until Hick bought (unknowingly) a bag of bad food that made all the cats sick. He's made a remarkable recovery. No, his tail is not chopped off. In that picture, it's under the porch post that has a gap since the porch has settled. The whole homestead is probably going to plunge into a giant sinkhole one of these days.

Anyhoo...Puppy Jack is looking stronger today, and ran to greet me when I got home from 44 oz Diet Coke-buying today, and even ate his handful of cat kibble.

I'm quite relieved that he's okay.