As it turns out, the soap maybe didn't cause all my distress. Boss Lady took me to the vet this morning. Well, that's not the whole story. First she locked me in the bathroom. Then she left me here all alone. And then she came back and took me to the vet. The vet poked me and prodded me and left me with a naked spot on my leg. He sent me home with orders of no food until further notice. I'm beginning to not like this vet.
Boss Lady brought me back home from the vet, locked me in the bathroom again, and returned to work. When she arrived home this evening, my poor tummy was just a grumbling. Do you know what a tummy feels like when it hasn't been filled with food for 24 hours? It does not feel good. I looked hopefully at Boss Lady when she came through the door. Surely she'd heard from the vet and had been instructed to feed me. It turns out she had heard from the vet, but the direction was not to feed me. Instead, she needed to hydrate me. The diagnosis was Pancreatitis and it's important to keep me full of fluids. That explains the gallon jug of gatorade Boss Lady brought home. It does not, however, explain the turkey baster.
I worried about the purpose of the turkey baster. It obviously had something to do with the gatorade, but I wasn't sure I wanted to know the details of the relationship. Boss Lady explained to me that I was going to ingest at least 1 liter of gatorade whether I wanted to or not and if it came down to it, she would squirt it down my throat with the turkey baster. I was skeptical. She really thought she would be able to get a significant amount of that liquid down my throat with just a turkey baster? Apparently, she's an optimist.
Playing up the optimism, Boss Lady thought she would give me a chance to ingest the gatorade willingly. She poured my 1 liter ration into a water bowl, set it on the floor, and encouraged me to slurp. I sniffed at it. Surprisingly, it didn't sniff too bad. Maybe it was just my empty tummy talking, but the gatorade actually smelled kind of yummy.
I tasted it, and it tasted kind of yummy, too.
So, I consented to slurping down about half the bowl. Boss Lady made me stop because she was afraid of overdoing it. She didn't want to end up cleaning regurgitated gatorade off the kitchen floor. Several hours later, we went through the gatorade routine again. So far, 1 liter of gatorade has been ingested and no turkey basters have been harmed in the making of this cure.