This morning I put Sam in the car for a ride to the vet, to have his teeth cleaned. After we arrived, our plans for the day unraveled. Sam has a hot spot, and the vet preferred to wait on this elective tooth cleaning and get the hot spot cleared up first.
Then we discussed his weight, which was surprisingly low. He used to weigh about 125 pounds, which was too much. As the judge at a "pet" show for Bernese Mountain Dogs once said, "He likes his cream puffs." When he had an infected nail bed last spring, he lost 9 or 10 pounds, which seemed like a lot, but he looked good at 115 or 116. He weighed 115 at his check-up a month ago.
Today he weighed 107.
That scared me. There's no doubt, his appetite has been off. But 8 pounds in a month? That's too much.
They drew blood to send out for various tests.
We came home with antibiotics for the hot spot. He ate a good breakfast, but tonight is off his food again. And in the morning I'm leaving for four days in a Mitten-Shaped State.
I hate to leave him behind. We have a good friend coming to stay, and the dog walker he loves will come by several times, but oh! I hate it.
Yet I am leaving him to visit my beloved human child, a visit I'm very excited to make.
Poor Sam. This morning he sprang around the yard, but when you take his food to the accustomed spot, you never know if he will chow down or simply lie down and look puzzled and a little bit sad. I hope the blood work will reveal something, or at least eliminate major worries.
Molly and Sam are the only dogs I've ever owned. I had no idea it would feel so deep, this love for dogs. He may be fine, I hope he will be fine, but tonight, I'm a worried Dog Mother.