Don't ever question my vigilance or credentials as an amateur scatologist! WARNING: Read no further if squeamish or weak of stomach.
Having completed Weed's prednisone treatment last week, a regimen of steadily-diminished doses that began in mid-February, I am observing her closely and hoping that her auto-immune disorder has been cured. I noted early this week that she was passing segments of parasitic tapeworms. That called for a weight-based dose of an appropriate dewormer that we duly administered. Not being one to assume success, I observed her post-treatment deposits, just to make sure that her dewormer did what it ought. One such recent deposit filled me with horror. It contained what appeared to be a large, green, circular worm, of the sort that one occasionally finds in garden soil. I call them cutworms; they roll into a ball and demand quick response, a lethal squish between two rocks. In the case of Weed's sample, I sought out a stout twig to probe and more thoroughly inspectigate the offending worm. What I discovered brought a chuckle and total relief. Her dreadful exotic parasite was, in fact, one of the rubber bands that we use for docking each lamb's tail, the undigestable remnant of what we call Wooly Pops, dessicated delicacies that she seeks out after they drop from lambs, and that she eats like, yes, popsicles.
Having completed Weed's prednisone treatment last week, a regimen of steadily-diminished doses that began in mid-February, I am observing her closely and hoping that her auto-immune disorder has been cured. I noted early this week that she was passing segments of parasitic tapeworms. That called for a weight-based dose of an appropriate dewormer that we duly administered. Not being one to assume success, I observed her post-treatment deposits, just to make sure that her dewormer did what it ought. One such recent deposit filled me with horror. It contained what appeared to be a large, green, circular worm, of the sort that one occasionally finds in garden soil. I call them cutworms; they roll into a ball and demand quick response, a lethal squish between two rocks. In the case of Weed's sample, I sought out a stout twig to probe and more thoroughly inspectigate the offending worm. What I discovered brought a chuckle and total relief. Her dreadful exotic parasite was, in fact, one of the rubber bands that we use for docking each lamb's tail, the undigestable remnant of what we call Wooly Pops, dessicated delicacies that she seeks out after they drop from lambs, and that she eats like, yes, popsicles.
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