(re-run)
Today I put Daisy’s Prozac in a slice of banana, as I do every day. She caught it and spit it out and then ate the banana pieces, leaving the pill.
Since two other dogs were right there, also getting slices of banana sans pills, I had to hurriedly pick it up before the wrong dog swallowed it. I tried a bigger slice of banana. Again, Daisy caught it in mid-air, then spit it out and ate the banana, leaving the pill on the kitchen rug (those pills are a little over $1 each).
“Okay, Daisy, you think you’re so smart. I’m going to put it in cheese.”
I got a piece of Colby cheese slice, folded it around the pill, then tossed it to Daisy. She managed to eat the cheese and drop the pill without spitting it out first. The two other dogs lost interest and wandered off. “If only I had some peanut butter!”
I opened the fridge and saw the open can of wet dog food. I took off the plastic lid and dipped my finger in it. Then I smeared the wet goodness all over the pill and tossed it to Daisy. Hurray! She finally swallowed the whole thing.
Looking back, I realized that Daisy parlayed her single treat into four treats. I’d say she’s pretty smart.
Daisy mellows out just enough to be a regular dog with a wagging tail while on Prozac. Otherwise, her prey drive makes her a crazy killer. She’ll spend both day and night hunting down rats, catching them and shaking them to death. Her record is 4 rats and 1 unfortunate squirrel. She almost got my girlfriend’s dog early in her residency at my house(s), but said girlfriend was able to yank her dog up with the leash and out of Daisy’s death grip.
Daisy is older now and more mellow. She sleeps more than she used to. She sticks around for treats but also runs out the door because she wants to make a sweep of the yard before she returns for, you guessed it, a treat.
The other day, we had just arrived at the beach house. I barricaded the wooden gate by putting a heavy wrought iron chair in front of it. Daisy knows how to ram the garden gate until the lock pops up, Then she takes herself for a run. A little while later I went out the gate, and Daisy was running on the long driveway I share with my neighbor.
“How did you . . .? And why are you a brown dog now instead of a white dog?”
I checked the fence. Sure enough, she had moved a brick blocking a hole and had squeezed herself under the fence. That evening Daisy got a warm shower. I think she might be smarter than me.
Oh, Daisy! You’re a Jack Russell terrier, and I’ll never have another. You can open doors and gates and can escape from almost anywhere. You have learned to leave the big dog alone because she has bitten you one too many times when you get in her face with your neurotic, maniacal barking ways.
You’re cute, but you’re a handful. As the vet said to me, “You’re the sucker that rescued a Jack Russell terrier.”
FIRST DATE, WORST DATE EVER! 