Scottie News‘ favourite West Highland Terrier, Harry, is back and cheating death (sorry link’s gone):
The vet looked at us and informed us, in a very serious voice, that our dog was about as close to dead as an animal could get. We had to find a way to get some food in Harry, she said. We reminded her that Harry had been on a restricted diet for his skin condition, but she warned us that a smelly dog was better, in most cases, than a dead one. She’d do blood tests to find out what was causing this weight loss, but until then, we had to put some meat on him.
Harry just sat on the stainless steel table, shivering. I picked him up, gave him a hug — I heard something cracking — and vowed that his last days would be good ones, even if I had to feed him steak.
When we got him home, I made up a big plate of Thanksgiving turkey with gravy. Harry watched from across the room through half-lidded eyes, wheezing out one of his last breaths. He came to life, though, when he saw me starting to scrape the mess into his bowl. I leaned down to put the bowl on the ground.
Suddenly, Harry shot across the room like he’d been launched from a catapult, almost knocking me on my rear end. He jammed his face into his bowl — all I could make out was a whirling ball of fur and flying turkey. The sound was a disgusting mix of snorting, grunting and growling. Twenty seconds later, he looked up gasping for a breath with his snout covered in gravy, and he started (and this is the point where I started to get annoyed) dancing on his hind legs.