Parvo Convalescence

Our parvovirus victim Bruce is recovering well. He's still isolated from his sister, as the virus is supposed to be extremely thick in his stool right now, and so he's still living on a concrete surface which is regularly washed down with bleach-water. If there's one thing we DON'T need, it's a nice rich layer of parvovirus on our property.

I'm still feeding him boiled chicken and rice, this batch with a potato added for some extra minerals. He's still getting a spoonful of yogurt, as well, with each meal, though sometimes he skips that bit. By now, though, he's beginning to get regular puppy kibble as well, and some of the gizzard blend I give to everyone else. It's full of nice immune system boosters like vitamin C and echinacea, and it doesn't seem to be hurting him any.

In fact, he's acting perfectly well these days. This morning we engaged in his own personal version of fetch, which is more like playing catch with a toddler than anything else. He doesn't bring the toy back. He flings it back. His aim is decent; it's usually within a couple of feet of my ankles. He runs in crazy circles and shuttles between tosses. He's getting exercise and we're interacting, which is pretty much the point, so this is an "If it ain't broke, don't break it" situation. Formal retrieves are for formal retrieves. Games should be games.

This morning he also demonstrated his other unusual talent, or pastime, or however one wishes to look at it. He is a first-class mumbler. I was treated to a soliloquy roughly half an hour long this morning because, though his pen is roofed over, the roof was not up to holding out the rain we were having and there was a waterfall where he wished to relieve himself. I didn't understand a word, mind you, but the gist was clear enough. Teaching him "Speak" should be very easy! Eventually the rain let up, the waterfall faded to a dribble, and he deposited a pile at the greatest possible distance from his food and bed. I approved and cleaned it up. He really is doing his darnedest to be a good boy. We'll both be happier when all the contracted work on the house is done.

Parvo Followup

Bruce is home! I now call him the solid-gold retriever. He's going to have to be all kinds of good boy now, but he's alive and he's eating a little, and he's very, very glad to see his people again.

The scary part is now keeping him whole, healthy, and away from his sister for a bit. Apparently parvovirus stays in the system and is shed through fecal material for a good two weeks after the puppy recovers. We've put up an isolation pen on concrete so we can clean up after him easily and thoroughly. Bleach kills the virus. Very little else does.

We have all sorts of enticing but mild goodies for him, too. Boiled chicken with rice, yogurt, very tiny pieces of steak -- he seems rather pleased by all the smorgasboard, though still quite peckish. We're working out a rotation of who cares for him at which time of day (two sets of pills) and how we're going to keep ourselves disinfected. I'm hoping to do a little obedience with him during our snuggle sessions, just to give him something to think about besides the squirrels which will no doubt tease him from beyond the fence.

Parvo Worries

Our puppy has parvo. More accurately, one of our puppies has parvovirus, and the other, to date, does not.

They have had the same vaccines on the same days. They play together and go pretty much everywhere together. However, Bruce has been at the vet since Friday being stuffed full of antivomiting, antidiarrheal, antibiotic, and antiviral drugs along with everything else in a well-rounded IV drip, being force-fed for intestinal stability, and so on. Poor puppy. I suppose once this is all over, presuming he makes it, he'll be used to being handled by people other than his two favorites. Meanwhile, Wanda is happily soaking up all her usual attention plus what he'd usually get, eating like a pony (she's too small to eat like a horse), and generally being her usual bratty cute self.

Bruce is also beginning to do a sort of bobble-head thing that worries his vets greatly. They can come up with all sorts of opportunistic diseases which might cause such a thing. I suspect, though, it is an exaggeration of a longtime Bruce trait, which is that if he is very tired and a little worried about falling asleep, he'll sit and nod for quite some time before giving up and wilting. In a strange scary place full of strange scary people, he wouldn't sleep readily.

We took him over to the emergency clinic from the regular one last night, since the span from the last person leaving on Sunday to the first one in on Monday seemed like a long time if we were worried about spiking fevers, septic attacks, or seizures. As it turned out, his temperature did go up a bit, but it also went back down again, and he was pretty stable all night. I'd call the money worthwhile for the peace of mind, but I, for one, had none anyway.

If he pulls through, we won't be looking for another home for him anymore. I think we've settled that he's our dog, whether we go sailing on to a limited registration and some spiffy performance titles or just hang out on the couch together.