Cassandra Comety, who runs the Cambridge Valley Vet’s office, called me this morning.

She read on the blog that Zinnia wasn’t entirely past her stomach troubles and told me to come in today. It wasn’t a request. They wanted to see Bud as well and weigh him. I do what Cassandra tells me; she is impressive and wise and takes no prisoners and brooks no bullshit.

She’s been putting up with me for many years. I am very fond of her, but I don’t give her any trouble.

I brought the two of them in just before lunch, as instructed.

The Covid protocol is this: I sit outside in my car, Cassandra or one of the other techs comes out and bring the dogs inside, where  people are not permitted to go.

When the exam is done, the vet – in this case, Dr. Roosevelt, Suzanne Fiorello was away today – comes out and explains what they’ve found and what the next step is, if there is the next step or medicine is required.

They see this dog and stomach problem all the time up here. There are a lot of outdoor and hunting dogs who walk and run off-leash, and they are always getting sick on something they pick up in the woods, from roadkill to coyote scat to the carcasses of deer and other animals

Some need surgery. Most don’t.

Labs have no good judgment about what they will eat in the woods.

I brought a book to read while I waited in the car,  Louise Erdrich’s The Sentence. The exam took about 20 minutes.

After the vet explains what they found inside,  someone comes out for my credit card, and I pay for the visit.

I think we all knew Zinnia was OK – she ate well this morning, had a solid stool, kept it down, was very alert. But the vets like to be sure, which is appropriate and proper. We agreed if it lasted more than two days, we’d have it checked. But there was no panic, no crisis, no drama. We were just dotting the I’s.

Cassandra said she wanted to make certain Zinnia was OK before the weekend when the vet’s office was closed. I appreciate that thoughtfulness.

It is not hard to tell if a dog has something stuck in its stomach or digestive tract.

They are uncomfortable and most often in pain.

There is often blood in the stool, and they have trouble sleeping or running.  They can’t keep food down at all.

Zinnia had no such symptoms. I’ve seen this a score of times. I would have rushed to the vet or an emergency clinic a couple of hours away if she had even one of those symptoms beyond throwing up, which she does pretty often after walks.

They first examined Bud, we agreed on a new food, Purina Canine EN, 18 lbs, to cut back on his flatulence. The food and exam were $67.86. Then Zinnia.

Dr. Roosevelt and Cassandra examined Zinnia closely; they said they manipulated her stomach – no sensitivity or pain and felt her colon.

There was a stool in there, which was a good sign; it meant her food passed through to the colon and was not obstructed. Dr. Roosevelt told me she found Zinnia “100 percent” overall. The only thing that troubled her a bit was that her gums were tacky, which can be a sign of dehydration (from two days of vomiting.)

Otherwise, she looked great.

She said Zinnia had lost no weight in the past month, but that is typical of the English working Labs; they are bred to be stocky and solid for plowing through marshes and fields. She thought the food Zinnia was getting was too rich for her now that’s she’s no longer a puppy. The change would take off five or six pounds which would be good for her.

So we switched foods today. She said we didn’t need to transition the food or give it to her slowly.

Several people wrote to tell me they thought Zinnia looked worn and thin in the photos I posted of her. This is the danger of diagnosing animals or people from images online. She had not lost an ounce in the past weeks. I’ll stick with the vets.

Dr. Roosevelt suggested fluid therapy, which involved injecting fluids into Zinnia through her neck to make sure there was enough fluid in her. She reiterated that she thought Zinnia was fine, but she might be slightly dehydrated from vomiting. It would resolve itself nN=aturally, she said, but she wouldn’t mind giving her a boost and a gentle push. OK, I said.

She thought Zinnia was very calm and still during the exam, but I said that is Zinnia’s normal position and attitude – she is the Queen of Chill. Nothing rattles her ut the sight of another dog.

The Ondansetron injection cost $34.45.

The total bill for the two dogs was $183.31.

I was glad she wasn’t sick for many reasons. So she is home and wolfed down her new food. She is sleeping under my chair as I write this in her usual and favorite spot.

I am very happy to see her there. I took her out to the pasture late this cold day and threw a ball for her for nearly half an hour. I was exhausted; she was slowing down just a bit. This dog is not sick.

I’m happy this turned out well. I’m glad my instincts were correct. That is so important when vets offer options that can be both painful for the dog and expensive. I’m always prepared to say yes, and always prepared to say no. That’s where my faith in myself comes in.

I know my dog well and trust myself, essential when trouble comes. I recommend it highly. I’m grateful to Cassandra for giving me a poke, to make sure.

There are no great lessons to be learned here. This was not a drama or a crisis. I understand that people worry about my dogs because I write about them, they tell me. This is a compliment. I have no blame for their alarm but me.

But here’s how it looks from this end: If I’d listened to the advice I was getting — all of it hysterical, premature, or just plain wrong – Zinna would probably have had her belly cut open by now, and I’d have a $1,000 bill on my hands, and she’d have a long recovery.

This is why I don’t like unwanted advice; I find it dangerous and disturbing. I’ve seen a vet I trust, and I will trust them. It’s just that simple. Amateur advice from strangers is often alarming, I don’t want my confidence undermined. Zinnia’s well-being depends on that.

Vets go to school for six years and work hard and see dogs every day and go to conferences every year. Very few of us have that specialized knowledge. I have never – not once in my writing life – messaged a stranger to diagnose their dog from photos online and offer medical advice with absolute certainty.

I consider that unethical and irresponsible and can’t imagine doing it.

The people who message me are didactic – they are all sure and assume I’m either an idiot or blind. I’ve written a score of dog books, yet I’m not supposed to know when to take my dog to a vet. I don’t quite get the reasoning.

Having suffered from anxiety for all of my life, I wish I didn’t get so many of these panicky and anxious messages.

I know they are written out of love, but they are not pleasant for me to receive. I am learning to block them from my mind, not take them in.

That is not going to change, social media and Facebook being what they are. People love dogs so much they can’t bear to think of them suffering. And this new technology makes it easy to tell other people what to do.

It serves no purpose for me to beat up on them and does no good.

It’s part of life in America. Suck it up, Jon.

The responsibility for handling it well and letting go of my old grievances and resentments is mine. It accomplishes nothing to get angry.

I’m not eight, and these people are not my parents yelling at me or punishing me for wetting the bed. I guess that is one lesson to be learned, and I’m learning it.

But I still don’t care for unwanted advice, which can be useful. This isn’t buying a snowblower; it’s about the life of a dog—my responsibility, not yours.

I can’t explain it any better than that.

(Photo; Cassandra, taking the dogs into the Cambridge Valley Vet.)