I’ve been feeling wiped out for the past week, with this pathetic little cough, have to constantly pour something down my throat it feels so dry. Beer works quite well, all that fizz. So yesterday, I take Fergie and Jake in for their usual immunizations and mention that Jake’s been hacking, had to be that stick he shredded. Would the vet please take a look down his throat, ‘cause I couldn’t see anything myself. He does. Nothing. He listens to Jake’s chest.
Kennel cough, the vet tells me. It’s an upper respiratory infection. Oh no, my baby, I say and stifle a cough. The Poods (short for poodles, my cute alternate name for my Staffies) get their shots, Jake gets a little wagon full of medicines and off we go. It was only hours later that I got to thinking. Yup. I have kennel cough. I looked it up online. But I’ve managed to survive for a week; if I get any worse, maybe I’ll take a couple of Jake’s pills.