White Dog announced Ferguson's return from Dr. Julia's office and Nilla pushed her way to the head of the line to greet him. She had been a sad mess all day jumping at the sound of every car coming down the block. "I know you are worried," I told her, "but he will be fine and you will know when it is time to pick him up. Dad will tell us." She sighed and still looked worried.
The antibiotic Dr. Julia had put Fergus on last week for the gingivitis had done little. He was still swollen and miserable. This morning he was going in for a thorough dental examination and, we were all pretty certain, a tooth extraction.
Fergus was snappish at being back in the vet's office so soon; and his sad eyes haunted Steve all day. "I think he believes I have abandoned him," Steve said. "I told him I would be there when he awoke but he looked doubtful." We talked about the need for this action and how much better our boy would feel when his mouth did not hurt.
Mid-morning Dr. Julia called from the surgical suite to let us know the results of her exam. Ferguson had the one severely infected tooth we knew about, gingivitis, and five other teeth that needed to come out. "His mouth is a mess," she concluded, but we already knew that.
He came home with pain meds, a stronger antibiotic and a recheck appointment for Friday. His face already looked less swollen. He was lucid enough to detour Steve for a walk upon exiting the van...before coming in to the waiting Army. Each of the White Dog Army took a moment to offer get wells and to snff his mouth. YoYoMa went last, "I totally understand, brother," he said, "I lost 13 of MY teeth when I had mouth troubles." They touched muzzles.
The best sign that things are already on the mend is that Ferguson actually WANTED his dinner tonight...and ate more than half. Still, Nilla goes out to check on him every little whle, just to make sure.