Yesterday afternoon, Eva was outside by the pool doing her thing of running, chasing flies and such, when all at once, after a magnificent twisting jump into the air, she stopped, shook her head violently, and spat out her latest quarry, a large, twisting and turning, fatally injured wasp.
I called her over and she came immediately, which was a surprise to me. She kept shaking her head side to side and licking her nose and muzzle. Of course, I deduced right away that the large wasp had stung her either on the tongue or somewhere else inside her mouth.
There's absolutely no way, while she's conscious, that Eva will allow anyone to open her mouth and look inside. So what could I do? Nothing but speak soothingly, pat her head, and commiserate with her as she laid her head on my knee and stared up at me.
We came inside and I tried to get her to drink some water, but she just looked at me like I was crazy and shied away from the proffered water pan. So we went into the living room, where I sat down and watched a science show called Through The Wormhole and Eva curled up on her napping pillow and dozed off.
That evening Eva was as eager as ever to eat her six o'clock meal but I noticed that she ate the dry pellets gingerly and relatively slower than her usual wolfing down. But she ate it all. Of course. And then we went outside so she could do her other business.
Rather quickly Eva indicated that she was ready to come back inside. So we did so.
Again, she curled up on her pillow in front of the TV and promptly want to sleep.
I felt bad for her.
At about eight thirty she rose from the pillow and let me know she was ready to go back outside for her last visit of the day and out we went. It took only around a minute for her to slowly walk back to the door. And I opened it for her.
She slowly headed for the bedroom, where she twice circled and then lay down on her overnight bedding. I rubbed her head and back like I always do and told her the nightly ritual about what a good girl she was and how she was such a nice baby, and such a nice puppy, etc.
She sank down and burrowed into the cushion, and I left her there in the dark.
This morning Eva came bustling into my bedroom at five o'clock and woke me up. She was as happy and playfully rambunctious as ever, with no sign of her former discomfort. She ate her morning meal with all her usual noisy, hurried gusto and then rushed to the glass exit door, ready for another day of cavorting and chasing the fleeing hordes of flying, flitting, and skittering desert critters.