Bitter pills to take minus those spoonfuls of sugar

Whether taking care of human, canine or feline invalids, Fiona reckons the right dose of TLC can be as beneficial as any drug

One again we are visiting hospitals. Eight months ago my poor papa fell down the stairs and broke his right leg. Now he has slipped in the kitchen and broken his left hip. The operation went well. It is, apparently, a routine procedure and all seems to be going in the right direction.

The surgeon is a star, of course, and the nurses are top-notch. These angels of mercy fuss round, competent and cheery. But they have their work cut out.

My father is not the best patient in the world. He is not a happy bunny because all he wishes to do is come home.

They – and we – jolly him along. We take in ice cream cones and newspapers. We sit and chatter while he glowers from his bed.

When he will be able to return to sit on the balcony of his loch-side house is anyone’s guess because recovery time varies from a few weeks to a few months – and they will not let him back if there is a risk of another fall.

Meanwhile, the MacNaughties, too, find themselves under the weather.

The Norfolk has been diagnosed with a heart murmur. The spaniel has a rheumatic leg. And now both must take tablets.

We unpack the medication and mix it into the food.

As usual, the spaniel is a trusting soul. Barra gobbles up his breakfast and smacks his doggie lips.

The Norfolk is also ravenous. Yet he is warier. Rummie carefully picks out the chunks of dried dog food and avoids the cream-coloured pill.

I add some wet meat and mix it all in again. Again, he licks off the gravy and leaves the pill.

We used to have a cat that needed regular medication. And that was a dangerous operation. You take your life in your hands trying to administer tablets to a cat.

In the end, we had to wrap Amber in a towel to save us from flailing claws. She fought like a tiger as her jaw was opened, the pill placed inside, then the jaw held shut until she had no option but to swallow the thing.

It was stressful for all involved. Mind, it worked. Amber lived until she was 20. Which is a fine age for any feline.

Yes, Amber just kept on going – and she could leap up on to the kitchen counter, almost until the day she died. But our puss could not hold a candle to another venerable moggy.

Creme Puff lived in Texas and she

The operation went well. It is, apparently, a routine procedure and all seems to be going in the right direction

managed to put 38 years and three days under her belt. Which, in human terms, is a staggering 174 years.

But back to our human and canine invalids. In the end I wrap Rummie’s tablet in a tasty morsel of chicken. He sniffs the thing and swallows it whole.

Would that it was so easy with my father. His is a bitter pill to swallow, but we muddle on in hope. Today it is a hobble round the hospital corridor. Tomorrow, who knows...?