The Paris Review - Fall 2016

“A Milk-Bone.”
“And does she have energy?”
“Yes, she has some energy,” Emily said. “I take her to the park every
morning and she does wind sprints, running back and forth, but this morning,
she got tired earlier than usual. Her legs are weak. Just to be clear, this
is bone broth I gave her.”
“Well, if I could make a recommendation? We sell a product called
Vegetable and Chicken Stew. It’s for dogs with IBS, and the dogs really go
wild for it. I can pull some for you to have a look.”
Emily nodded. It was obvious the receptionist thought she was a terrible
dog owner.
She said, “Go ahead and have a seat. Doc will call you up when she has
a diagnosis.”
THE VETERINARIAN FOUND EMILY by the pegboard of leashes
for sale. She was an old woman with a clear intelligence and eyeglasses that
magnified her eyes.
She said, “Simha is full of whipworms! Full of them. We took a stool
sample and it looks like pond water. Did you ever do that experiment when
you were in school, with a microscope?”
“Yes,” Emily said, reflexively. Then she realized what the question was
and added, “No.”
The vet explained that Emily would have to give Simha dewormer in an
oral syringe for five days.
“Then we’ll bring her back in to retest her. Whipworm is hard to get rid
of. Does she have a yard she plays in? If there’s any feces in the yard and she
steps in it, she’ll reinfect herself. Has she been playing around a bird feeder?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe a bird waterer?”
“No.”
“But what about her legs?” Emily asked.
“I couldn’t find anything wrong with her legs.”
“She has trouble standing.”
“Maybe it was just her sore tummy.”
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