My Diabetic Doggy, Part 1
For her seventh birthday in early May, my sweet little long-haired chihuahua, Toodles, was diagnosed with diabetes. Daddy (aka moi) was devastated. Dollar signs flashed before my eyes. What was I going to do?
I’m crazy about my little dog. She sleeps with me, gets anxious when I’m not around, and won’t have anything to do with anyone else but my ex. Yeah, I know the middle-aged gay man and his tiny little dog(s) is a cliche. What can I say? I drive a convertible too.
I sleep on my side in a bed too high off the ground for Toodles to jump up or down. She curls up against me with her rump jammed into my armpit. If she wants down, she moves to the foot of the bed, sits quietly, and waits for me to respond. Somehow, I sense her absence and always wake up.
My ex is not so well-trained, leading to the occasional miscommunication and the resulting mess when she stays with him. His dog, Tico, knows to nuzzle, lick faces, and make noises until the message gets through. Toodles is too much of a lady to call attention to herself that way.
She almost always sleeps through the night. Or did. Starting back in April, she wanted down three or four times a night. As usual, I’d carry her into the living room and set her down midway between the outside door and her water bowl.
In the past, either destination was equally likely. Now, she drinks a TON of water and goes outside to tinkle. If she doesn’t head for the door on her own, I’ve learned to make her go out to postpone the next wake up call.
In mid-April she got a urinary tract infection. The vet put her on an antibiotic for two weeks and then checked her urine. The infection was gone, but the sugar content was sky high. A blood test confirmed his hunch: she’s diabetic.
Next week, I’ll tell you how much it’s going to cost and what I decided to do.