"My dog winks at me sometimes. I always wink back in case it's some kind of code."
I swear I can hear her gentle, little voice in my mind. Honestly, I completely know how it would sound- soft, yet confident, sweet and singsong-y.
Wouldn't it be great if animals could talk? If we, as humans, could find a way to easily communicate- sans tail wags and pouting eyes?
I've knew something was wrong, mother's intuition we'll call it. Therefore I made an appointment with the vet and off we went for a little check-up. The whole way there I talked to her, telling what would happen and how the doctor had just the right stuff to make her feel better. She seemed to listen, content with the knowledge that relief awaited.
As it turns out, my little fur-child managed to get herself quite the irritating skin infection. Poor baby.
While we work on figuring out what she is allergic to, Charlie finds herself limited to a deliciously satisfying hypo-allergenic kibble diet. Always the trooper, she adjusted quite well. Mama, on the other hand, did not.
Naturally, I felt terrible that her normal potty-time routine of "potty = Cheerio" was disrupted. No longer did she get a real reward, but rather a little piece of her food, the same stuff that continually filled her bowl. "This isn't going to do," I chided myself.
Now it isn't everyday that I fill my food processor with kibble, but a mom's gotta do what a mom's gotta do. I diligently added just the right amount of water, creating a dough-like consistency, formed a few dozen biscuits, and sent them off into a 350 degree oven.
While they baked, I showed her the treats and told her how delicious they would taste. I made a huge deal about the whole event, causing her to wag her tail and softly yip around the kitchen.
Much to my delight, she loves those little biscuits. She downright thinks they are tops.
Hence, the lip-licking.
For now, she must rest, allowing her medicine to work and her skin to heal.
Get well, Little One. We sure love you and want you free of the sickies.