Tuesday AM UPDATE: The Wonderdog – despite spending yesterday getting pumped full of antibiotics so powerful he set off our smoke detectors – did no better last night, so it’s back to the vet this morning. Hard to see the formerly tank-like, enthusiastically goofy Wonderdog barely able to life his head, but we’re hoping for better news today…

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On Friday, Wally the Wonderdog had the time of his life with Little M and I (when he’s outdoors with us, he pretty much always has the time of his life).

Saturday morning he went running with the L&T, cooled himself with a swim in the backyard pond, and began his afternoon “work” period, which to the unappreciative eye looks a lot like laying around and sleeping.

Unfortunately, by Saturday evening, it was clear somewhat wasn’t quite right.

He was lethargic, shivering a little and panting. A call to former vet-tech Myrna (of “Wayne & Myrna”) suggested a gastro-intestinal problem, which isn’t exactly rare for Wonderdog.

He tends to scarf up roadkill, discarded deer parts – pretty much whatever the rest of the animal kingdom has left behind for reasons of taste and sophistication.

Still, it was worrying.

Living in a rural area offers a lot of benefits, but after-hours/Sunday emergency vet care isn’t one of them.

In fact, the local animal hospital answering machine offers up an after-hours emergency number, but also says if your “emergency” call isn’t returned in five minutes, you should probably abandon all hope.

In a half-dozen tries over the years, the emergency number has worked exactly once.

That’s why – when I got up at 3:00 am Sunday morning (yes, I like to worry) to check on the Wonderdog – and found him shaking hard and barely responsive, there wasn’t much to do except hang with him until morning.

That’s when the L&T shoveled him into the car and headed for Redding, while I stayed and distracted Little M, who pretty much pegged the “Old Yeller” meter by wandering around the now-empty house and calling for her Partner in Crime.

In Redding, a clearly distracted vet first diagnosed Salmon Fever – a disease acquired by eating raw salmon, trouts, etc.

Since Wally ate the brown trout that fell from the sky, I haven’t seen the Wonderdog eat anything fishy, but he’s always on the river with me or at the lake with the L&T, and he’s perfectly capable of snarfing down a dead trout before either one of us notices.

The vet then oddly reversed herself (they didn’t find what they were looking for in a stool sample, despite the fact they wouldn’t early in the disease), and instead of the really expensive, massively powerful course of antibiotics, shot him full of a “normal” antibiotic, injected enough saline solution under his skin to make him look like a camel, and sent him home.

Due to the high fever (105 degrees) and other indicators, they diagnosed “some kind of infection.”

Gee. I never would have guessed.

“If he doesn’t show marked improvement,” she said. “Bring him back.”

This morning, he’s no better. In fact, I checked him at 2:30 am (that worry thing again), and it was clear he’s worse.

The L&T and I are beside ourselves.

In a few minutes, the L&T is taking the Wonderdog to a local vet, where we hope to get some answers before this all snowballs out of control, which – judging by the notoriously tough Wonderdog’s unwillingness to even raise his head – is well underway.

More answers as they come.

UPDATE: The local vet is keeping the Wonderdog today, and is concerned enough about Salmon Fever that – after the no-show on yesterday’s antibiotics – we’re giving him the full-zoot antibiotics. We get him back tonight, and then drag him back in tomorrow AM for more. Hopefully, progress is being made.

See you at the vet’s, TC.

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