Who's a puffy muzzle? Who’s a puffy muzzle? Youz a puffy muzzle!

I got up from a nap on Saturday and passed the dog on the sofa. Said hello, which usually get a THUMP of the tail and maybe a paw raised in a greeting. He seemed subdued. Went over to give him a scratch, and noted that his lower right jaw was swollen. I deduced that he had been bitten by an insect of low, cruel nature, and went straight to the Internet! to see if there was something to confirm my snap diagnosis. The internet obliged. I took another look and noticed that both sides of his face were swollen, which suggested an allergic reaction. Also his muzzle on the top.

Hmm.

Of course the vet was closed. Of course the closest emergency vet was in a distant burb, and as the nice lady who answered the phone noted, they charged “$112.50.” I love that fifty cents. Lets you know this price isn’t the least bit arbitrary, but calculated down to the pfennig and farthing. She said I could give him Benadryl, but she couldn’t tell me the dosage. I could, however, consult the internet.

She was correct. There was a site whose entire purpose is getting clicks from people who want to know how much Benadryl to give their dog, and it goes on and on and rambles and repeats itself and does not tell you how much Benadryl to give your dog, but it has a link to a page that tells you how much Benadryl you can give your dog, and while that page does not tell you how much it links to other pages deeper in the site that will, you are told, will tell you how much Benadryl you can give your dog.

Found some legitimate sites, and you could tell they were better because they had “MD” in the banner graphic and stock photos of female vets - all vets are female, every one of them, and all are about 27 and have dark long hair, if you were wondering. All are smiling down at an animal who’s perfectly fine. I learned how much to give the dog and I gave it to him.

If they’re not breathing, of course, that’s a problem. Not breathing is apparently one of those things that lets you know the situation might require attention. But he was breathing just fine, and aside from looking miserable and puffy he was okay. I put the Benadryl in some peanut butter and buried it in some food, and he ate all the food except for the Benadryl, which I put down his throat. Sorry, pal.

About ten minutes later he was slumped and staring and stoned, then sleepy. I expected this might reduce the swelling, but hours later, no.

If only there was a Otolaryngologist in the house!

Oh, wait: there was, or would be soon. Father-in-law’s in town for a visit, and he’s an ear-nose-throat man. Like many doctors, he can drill down to the essentials, and he said, more or less, if it was serious, he’d be dead. True: if it was a bad allergic reaction, Scout wouldn’t be walking around barking at squirrels and lapping up water. So it’s just a matter of waiting for the swelling to go down. . . whenever.

Which it hasn’t. It’s now eight hours later. Some sites say it can take a day and a half. Talking with wife about what might have happened, she says he’s been eating wasps. If there’s one thing you’d think evolution would breed out of any beast it’s EATING WASPS, but since it’s not fatal for the most part, well, chomp away as you please, laddie buck.

She just came down from upstairs saying that he’s uncomfortable, and could we give him more Benadryl? Check the web . . . well, I’m not finding a website called whencanIgivemydogBenadrylagain.com, but let me find a site with vague advice, a professional appearance, stock photos and ads for anti-tick sauce. Ah. WebPetMDVet.com says every eight hours.

“How long as it been?” She has a sad look.

“Seven hours. Probably safe.”

I get out the Benadryl, and here I decide to look at the expiration date.

“Hon, this stuff was expired when people were still having heated debates over the ‘Lost’ finale.”

“I’m sure it’s fine.”

Sooooo, google Expired Benadryl. One site says it’s okay, if diminished, but one site says with curt stern insistence that it should be thrown out immediately. That’s the official Benadryl site, though. Hah! What do they know? They’re just trying to sell you more, the devious, miserable, profit-mad creators of popular efficacious drugs!

I should note that I took much grief from daughter for not going to the far-flung emergency vet to spend $112.50, even though there’s no indication they could do anything. I was tempted to add that she was coming to the situation rather late in the tale, having been out at The High School Game with friends and then going up to the Water Tower (she asked first via phone, and I said yes, but make sure you find boys and drink and smoke. SIGH “I promise”) and then was heading to a midnight movie with her friends k - bye - luvya giggles down the stairs as they went to be picked up by the Mom. Some Mom. I’m unclear on the details, but as long as it’s a Mom it’s okay.

Anyway, he got more Benadryl later, and just said to hell with today and went up to his kennel. I hear him moving around upstairs, getting comfy, which is impossible because he is itchy all over. Of course it is impossible that he is thinking “they had steak tonight and I didn’t get any and a buzzything hurt and everything is crawling and they gave me old pills and every time they lean down and say things I can smell steak.”

And that was Saturday. Sunday morning, the part in the wee AM, was getting out of bed every fifteen minutes because the dog was itchy and didn’t know what to do with himself. Miserable. But he’s fine now.

 

   

Fans of the series say it was showing its age by the time they did this one:

You're thinking: it was a series? It had fans? You wouldn’t have asked that in the Forties. Or Thirties. Or Twenties. Or Teens. The character debuted in 1917 as a gentleman jewel thief, that romantic old notion of a fellow with good manners who just relieves dull-witted old society ladies of their baubles. You’re intended to root for him, though, because he’s a charming rogue.

Warren William played the role for a few films; never seen any, but I can imagine he brought brio and a small amount of malicious cheer to the role.(It didn’t work for Perry Mason, but that’s another entry.) In this penultimate episode of the series, he’s played by someone else. To put it in contemporary terms: Sean Connery had stepped away from the role, and this was Roger Moore:

And that’s the reason I decided to watch it. That, and the fact that it’s only 68 minutes long. If there’s anyone who probably had the career he absolutely deserved, it’s Gerald Mohr.

I’m not sure what I mean by that. Let me think. He wasn’t a major star. But he did 73 movies. He wasn’t a big TV star. But he did 100 shows, including several recurring roles. If you ask people about old radio shows - and by “people” I mean people who really don’t know much about the medium at all - they probably won’t come up with his name, but if you ask old radio enthusiasts, Mohr pops up right away.

He was Philip Marlowe.

The definitive Marlowe? No; a bit too cheerful, but the scripts leaned on the patter-and-banter side of the style, and the stories were solid. The cast was diverse; not just the same old voices you’d heard on a dozen other shows. He could play Cad, too, and did so on many “Whistler” mysteries. Debonair, tough, flip, romantic - you never mistook that voice for anyone else. But there's a punchline! You'll have to read to the end to find it.

Comic relief, in the form of a manservant sidekick butler valet-type person.


You might wonder why a Lone Wolf had a sidekick. It wouldn’t have been a Lone Wolf story without Jameson, though. Eric Biore: He did mostly butler-waiter-batman types, I gather. IMDB:

As sometimes is the case when personalities move into obscurity, their deaths are prematurely announced. Such was with Blore when the New Yorker journalist Kenneth Tynan reported him as already passed on. Blore's lawyer raised a flurry, as did the editor of the New Yorker who claimed the periodical had never had to print a retraction. The night before the highly profiled retraction appeared, Blore indeed passed away. And the next morning the New Yorker was the only publication with the wrong information.

I don't know if I believe that.

Anyway. London was a swank, classy, polished, elegant place in 1947:

More likely, the backlot. There's nothing about this that says LONDON at all, aside from a stock shot of Picadelly at the start, complete with obligatory BOVRIL sign. As for who's playing at the Courtleigh:

Evelyn Ankers. Queen of the Screams, as they said: she did monster movies for Universal. Her rather breathless IMDB bio, written like bad PR copy, says "Ankers married B-movie hunk Richard Denning in 1942 and made a go articulating the anxieties of the home front while her husband was off to war. Horror flicks were popular during World War II but, after the cessation of hostilities in 1945, they went out of favor with audiences. Ankers' career, mated to the genre at Universal, suffered."

She could still attract Alfred the Butler, though.

Alan Napier, always easy to spot. For one thing he's a yard taller than anyone else.

One more thing about Mohr: I grew up listening to him without even knowing it. He was Reed Richards.

 

 

 

 
 
 
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