Iggy's not feeling well. He's his usual scared, energetic, perky self, but anything that goes into his fuzzy little frame comes out liquid. And I mean anything.
It started sometime yesterday with just impaired structural integrity of what he was producing, and tomorrow I woke up to fecal-licious pawprints all over the apartment, with my parents there to witness it all. His blanket is soiled, his litter box was a mess.
The two most likely causes are too much treats and too much stress, or a combination of the two.
I got permission from J. to take the afternoon I'd said I'd work off to look after Iggy. He kinda left a brown puddle in the middle of the studio. In front of four customers and my parents. My mom freaked out. J. isn't exactly used to it, but she's a lot better at taking these things in stride. She was, in any case, convinced I wasn't playing on her feelings to get an afternoon of napping when I invoked the sick puppy clause.
So I spent the afternoon waiting for Iggy to get all nervous and pacy, which is Iggy's current way of indicating something's up, made sure he had plenty of fresh water, and eventually googling basic measures to take when your dog has diarrhea. The googling happened after the adjective 'explosive' became applicable and it took five minutes before Iggy wanted to sit on his butt after being taken outside.
The internet advised against any and all human medications (No, I was not planning on giving my three-pound dog a tablet that was meant for humans that weigh at least forty-five kilograms, but apparently this is something some people do) and to provide hydratation. I'd gotten that far myself. What I had forgotten was to take away his food bowl. Every time he chewed or ate something vaguely edible, it didn't seem to improve matters. So I took his pig ear, his chewing bone, his dentastix and his food bowl. He gave me the look he rarely gives Boyfriend and often gives me.
It's his 'Why are you being so mean to me?' look. He uses it when his food is taken away at night, his collar or harness is put on, his lead is taken off the shelf, he's put under a shower, his blanket is taken away for washing, one of my purses needs to be taken out of the drawer behind his basket and, lately, when the treats he sniffed and then left in someone's hand are not delivered to his spot. Oh, and when he's told to get off the couch. Though the couch thing has some confusion mixed in.
The frequency of pacing went down when I removed all edible things. His water intake increased. The amount of what's coming out went down. I'm hopeful that the end of the poonami is near.
The problem is that Iggy's still on edge. When Boyfriend's friends came in for a night of gaming, he tried to hide. Normally, he recognises them as 'The Guys Who Leave Me Alone And Occasionally Call My Name, But Don't Care If I Don't React'. Since my parents came over and he was taken in a car, walkies, in a car, in a store, in a car and home, with the strange man trying to get a rise out of him, he's been wary about people.
I'm going to see if a few days of peace and quiet and a less treats will improve matters. I'm hopeful.
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