I’ve lost track of the number of serious roadside paw emergencies that I’ve fixed using a magic finger rub, but now I’ve used a variation of the same technique to cure an unwell tummy. The owner of that unwell tummy was of course The Beanster, who has a lot of “form” in that area. She’d appeared completely normal on her morning walk and had speed-swallowed her breakfast right after it, but a couple of hours later her appetite seemed to be waning.

Raise Periscope!!

Biggles had just put his latest acquisition on show – one of Susan’s more recent pink sports socks – and since it hadn’t yet been chewed I decided to “buy” it from him. Half a bone-shaped biccie will usually be enough to secure a small sports sock, but today the price had been raised to a full cheese-flavored crisp from our local Poundstretcher store.

Beanie – as the co-owner of Biggles’ sock business – was due a cheese crisp too, but she hadn’t come to the kitchen to collect it despite all the excited jumping and woofing from his lordship. This in itself wasn’t unusual; sometimes when she’s napping she’ll leave it to me to bring the treat to her, and because I’m such a mug that’s exactly what I did. I dropped the crisp on the sofa beside her and watched quietly, expecting to see her waking up and then struggling to escape the tightly wrapped blanket that stands between her and the latest edible item. Her head popped up and she did poke her snout out from under her blanket to sniff the crisp, but there was no snatching and munching – she just left it and went back to sleep. I noted this without being overly concerned by it, but when I later served up her tea and she ignored that too – undeniable confirmation that there was “trouble at t’mill”.

The next day her appetite still hadn’t returned and there was talk of a vet visit. Given that it was now the weekend, said visit would have cost close to a grand as we were into “Vets Now” time. Keen not to spend that kind of money unless it was absolutely necessary, I grabbed her bowl and put a little serving of Greek yoghurt into it; in the past, yoghurt has worked when all other food has been rejected. I got nothing but disinterest (apart from Biggles of course – I had his full attention), but I wasn’t willing to give up that easy. I announced my intention to use my magic fingers, and to make them even more magic, I coated them in yoghurt. After the briefest of hesitation Beanie’s tongue whipped out and licked all that yoghurty magic right off my fingers. I held the bowl up to her mouth for another helping, but no, that wasn’t good enough; it had to be served on magic fingers.

Behold the amazing telescopic prehensile tongue of the Beanster: short setting

and long setting…

I’m always wary of pandering to Beanie’s demands in these situations – I’ve never forgotten how she kept pushing her luck as a little pup, going on hunger strike if we didn’t serve up ever tastier and more exotic options with each meal – but I went with it anyway and managed to get a fair serving of healthy yoghurt into her. A few hours later The Beanster was back to her normal self, dancing excitedly as her teatime meal was delivered. I can’t say for sure whether it was the yoghurt that fixed her or the magic finger treatment, but I do know this: it cost a heck of a lot less than a trip to the vet.