Whatever the disgusting thing was that Riley ate the day Boscoe died is apparently still in our yard. He was so sick that day, and the next, and then got better ... and then this past weekend he got sick again. (Though, thank goodness, nowhere near as sick as the first time.)
There's a spot in the yard that he keeps going to with great interest, but when Doug and I examine it all we can see are wet leaves and twigs. Here's hoping that he's eaten the last of whatever it was and will not torture himself (and us) again.
On Sunday night, I tried to give him a Pepto Bismol, but you would have thought it was arsenic, the way he backed away from me, eyes wide in what appeared to be terror. I even tried my old Boscoe tricks--wrapping it in bread and slathering it with butter. No way. Riley is waaaaaay too suspicious for that.
He took it and brought it outside and opened it up with his snout and licked off all the butter and left the rest of it in the snow.
I like that he thinks Pepto Bismol is disgusting and terrible and then races out in the yard and eats old dead shrew or whatever it was.
He's better today, which is good. Can you imagine bringing him to the vet? "Um, my other sick dog died? And now this dog is sick?" I fear they'd suspect me of munchausen syndrome by proxy.