Our fourteen year old dog came home from the vet last week with a pharmacy – a collection of pills and ointments to treat a recurring skin condition and a recently acquired limp. As the resident canine pill and injection nurse, I’m the one charged with slipping needles under furry skin and pushing mammoth capsules past slobbery tongues. Lucky me!

Good thing the dog doesn’t realize I’m clumsy with needles. Sharp objects give me the creeps, and I get a little shaky and short of breath when I’m trying to hold the dog steady to find a proper spot for the injection. If the needle nurse at your doctors office reacted this way you’d switch clinics. I’m sure it won’t be long before I give myself a shot instead. Pill stuffing is something I’m better at – I’m not likely to miss there and my hands and fingers just happen to be a size that is dog-throat friendly. But this can be a messy, drooly business.

Some pills go down easily if I act like the medicine is actually a treat. I’m convinced dogs read faces and body language, and there is an expression I use when I’m about to hand over something tasty and fun. I smile, lift my eyebrows and hold the pill close to my chest like it’s a treasure. Then, with a quick, generous sweep forward I bestow the pill on her as a delicious prize. Small pills are gone in an instant. Large pills, however, come back out almost immediately.

Ptoooie!

Then the game is on. I have to pick the pill up off the floor and quickly re-insert it before she turns and leaves the room. It is crucial to be both speedy and watchful, because there is a serious downside to administering oral medication to the wrong end of the dog. This goes on as many times as is necessary until she swallows, usually with a gulp, and always with a look of dismay and betrayal.

How well do you take your medicine?