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 The vet says Strider has a four degree
temperature and is eight months old. For $86, we came home with
dewormer, antibiotics, and a more impressive ear mite medicine for
Huckleberry whose ear mites have been resisting all over the counter
meds for months. The two haven't met, and won't until Strider
fights off his upper respiratory infection. For now, he's holed
up in a cozy nook in the barn.
The trip to the vet went pretty smoothly, all things considered.
Strider was a bit of a wiggler at first, but soon settled in and didn't
make any sudden moves amid a waiting room full of canines. The
only small problem was a bit of projectile pooping on the walk back to
the barn at the end of the day --- Strider really did try to warn me by
wriggling and meowing, but I held on tight thinking that he wanted to
get down and get lost in the floodplain. As a last resort, he
pooped into midair, barely soiling my coat. I dropped him in a
hurry to let him finish, just as Lucy came barreling down over the hill
to greet us. Mark tackled Lucy while Strider fled into the cave
created by an upturned root mass, to be slowly wheedled out again with
honeyed tones. Back in the safety of his barn, he ate and drank
ravenously before settling down to pur on my lap.
I have to admit that his manners are impeccable, all things
considered. Yesterday, I talked about trying to give him to my
brother. Today I know he's here to stay.
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After all, he did make that long journey to find us while sick and cold and wet....