Piggeh passed away
I was relieved when I could take the pig home from the vet last week, apparently a promise of a future.
The vet found that he had mites, which were the cause of the hair-loss on his belly which in combination with his lack of appetite was what triggered my visit. We also discussed the fact that he was terribly thin, and had been for a while, but didn't find any definite cause. I suspected overgrown teeth, but the vet looked at them and declared them to be fine.
So they shot him full of vitamins, gave him both antibiotics and probiotics, and provided me with a list of remedies.
He did seem a bit perkier, although he disliked being syringe-fed baby cereal, and didn't seem keen on drinking his probiotic-laced water.
Then I returned from the University yesterday to find him on his side in the cage (guinea pigs never lie on their side). For a moment I thought he was dead, but when he noticed me, he started kicking, trying to get back on his feet, without success. I had to help him up, and then he sat there, shaking like Mohammed Ali in recent years. He was moving in that trembling tentative way that's so cute in week-old kittens, but a sign of bad things in grown guinea pigs.
Having no idea what to do, I gave him a warm bath, which seemed to relax him. He lapped up a lot of the bath water, sparking the hope that maybe he was just dehydrated from refusing to drink his bottled water.
Most of the evening I sat with him wrapped in a towel. I got some more baby cereal into him, and sitting on my lap he seemed better, but when I put him back in his cage, I saw that he still could barely walk. I made sure he had food and drink within reach, and swore that even though I really can't afford it right now, I'd call the vet in the morning. ...If he survived the night...
I wasn't expecting him to make it. He didn't.
When I got up this morning I hardly dared look in the cage. He did not look peaceful. He looked like a dead rodent.
I don't know what to do now. I don't have a garden to burry him in, and I can't bare just throwing him in the trash.
Sleep tight,
Porcellus Heisenberg,
no more pain.
The vet found that he had mites, which were the cause of the hair-loss on his belly which in combination with his lack of appetite was what triggered my visit. We also discussed the fact that he was terribly thin, and had been for a while, but didn't find any definite cause. I suspected overgrown teeth, but the vet looked at them and declared them to be fine.
So they shot him full of vitamins, gave him both antibiotics and probiotics, and provided me with a list of remedies.
He did seem a bit perkier, although he disliked being syringe-fed baby cereal, and didn't seem keen on drinking his probiotic-laced water.
Then I returned from the University yesterday to find him on his side in the cage (guinea pigs never lie on their side). For a moment I thought he was dead, but when he noticed me, he started kicking, trying to get back on his feet, without success. I had to help him up, and then he sat there, shaking like Mohammed Ali in recent years. He was moving in that trembling tentative way that's so cute in week-old kittens, but a sign of bad things in grown guinea pigs.
Having no idea what to do, I gave him a warm bath, which seemed to relax him. He lapped up a lot of the bath water, sparking the hope that maybe he was just dehydrated from refusing to drink his bottled water.
Most of the evening I sat with him wrapped in a towel. I got some more baby cereal into him, and sitting on my lap he seemed better, but when I put him back in his cage, I saw that he still could barely walk. I made sure he had food and drink within reach, and swore that even though I really can't afford it right now, I'd call the vet in the morning. ...If he survived the night...
I wasn't expecting him to make it. He didn't.
When I got up this morning I hardly dared look in the cage. He did not look peaceful. He looked like a dead rodent.
I don't know what to do now. I don't have a garden to burry him in, and I can't bare just throwing him in the trash.
Sleep tight,
Porcellus Heisenberg,
no more pain.