Dog of a diagnosis has me howling for a cure
constant state of drowsiness was quite seductive, and while I was napping the sore throat and the coughing didn’t bother me.
For some time, between naps I managed to keep up with life-sustaining basics like grocery shopping, although I noticed that the butchery section of the supermarket became more and more alluring.
My nose began twitching at the scent of blood, and I found myself patting and pawing at the bloody hunks of meat in their glossy plastic and polystyrene packaging. I dismissed this as another – admittedly weirder – reaction to my decision to go vegetarian.
I theorised that it must be some atavistic last gasp of my meat-loving self. But one day at the supermarket, I couldn’t stop myself growling menacingly at a fellow shopper when she innocently reached in front of me to pick up a leg of lamb.
That’s when I could no longer deny that something was terribly, terribly wrong with me.
About the same time, my cough got so bad that it was almost a bark. I developed an itch behind my left ear which, frustratingly, could only be eased by scratching it with my left foot. I grew resentful of my dog, who could effortlessly scratch both ears and her stomach with either of her rear feet.
When we went for a walk together, we fought over who should carry the lead.
We competed for the best lamp posts, and quarrelled over any scraps of pizza or KFC we sniffed out en route. I snarled at her. She snarled back. We both chased skateboarders.
At this point, I tried to call a doctor, but found I could only paw ineffectually at the handset – and I couldn’t even remember what a number was. It was only when I attacked the postman that a neighbour called an ambulance and the local dog ranger to deal with me.
Although it was traumatic to be forcibly removed, snapping and snarling, from my home, it’s been for the best.
Firstly, I’ve got a diagnosis: I’m suffering from one of those zoonotic viruses, one that in this case has made the leap from canines to humans.
Secondly, I’ve been humanely rehomed in an SPCA quarantine facility for infected dog owners and their pets.
Things could certainly be a whole lot worse. My dog is in quarantine with me. I’m co-habiting with dogs, rather than bats, birds or ticks, which are more commonly associated with zoonotic diseases. I’m in Nelson, not on Nauru or Manus Island. I’m receiving proper medical care at last, including a prescription for Fluoxetine, an antidepressant and anti-anxiety drug for dogs.
This, plus the input of a Dog Whisperer, has drastically reduced my urge to growl, bark or bite.
What’s more, we get plenty of pats and belly rubs, and the food’s really great: no vegetarianism here, just plenty of raw meat and bones.
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