We've always suspected this, but yesterday had it confirmed. Several times throughout his 15 year lifetime, our heroic vet, Mette Tompkins, has had to snatch our dear Pooch from the Jaws of Death. The first time was when he bit off the pointy end of a corn cob, swallowed it, and couldn't pass it. He had major exploratory surgery to have it removed. And we moved the trash can to a closed closet. Who knew a 12 pound little dachshund could open a garbage can on his own?!?
A year later, our Foolish Boy swallowed the knuckle-end of his Nylabone. *sigh* I just KNEW I was taking him to see his Auntie Mette, the vet, the following day. Sure enough, she said we had to have the SAME surgery, they would even follow the previous incision. We told her to go ahead and install a zipper since we sensed a developing pattern!
Throughout the years, he's burned through what seemed to be the first eight of his Nine Lives. Then the worst news ever: 2 years ago, our Beloved Beast was diagnosed with liver failure. Hello Ninth Life. Defying all odds, he's lasted 2 years with this terminal condition, when the vet said he'd probably be done in 6 months. (We're convinced that he's decided to outlive us out of sheer cussedness!) It hasn't been easy.
This past week was a bad one. He stopped eating. Nada, Zip. No amount of doctoring of his prescribed dog food could convince him to eat. I was even trying to spoon feed him. His reaction upon facing the plate of chow was to physically recoil and he seemed to say "Ew, ew, ew EWWWWW!" Stress and Worry piled onto our shoulders - yesterday I was in serious need of Cupcakes, or Chocolate... or maybe both.
We took him back to Auntie Mette's office yesterday. She suggested we try cat food and opened up a can right there in the exam room. She, Marble Man and I, and the vet techs watched as the dog hoovered the stuff up. Success! Then he looked around with this look of suspicion on his face: "Wait a minute... when I come here, they don't usually put stuff in THIS end!"
Long story short, the little Monster is eating with gusto... for now. This just confirms our belief that he's a cat: Nine fully-lived lives, and he gobbles cat chow.
Feb 6, Update:
The honeymoon with the new food lasted exactly 24 hours. Crap! Now he's back to hovering over the dish, but refusing to eat. We've tried heating it up, adding tomato sauce, peanut butter, Parmesan cheese... to no avail.