Out-witting the Family Pooch

My little sweet yorkie-poo, Bailey, has been feeling puny lately. I took him to the Veterinarian last week and he gently poked, prodded and added ordered some x-rays to the tune of $210. (I never understood why the term "to the tune of" is used when I was hearing NO MUSIC at this point in time)

With the invoice came the diagnosis. Bailey is 14 years old and is getting O L D.
I then was given back my dog, his leash and a bottle of wonder pills that promised to find the canine fountain of youth.

Have you ever tried to give a dog a pill that is big as my shoe?
Of course, over the years, Bailey has had an ailment or two and three surgeries so I've had the pleasure of administering medicine to him before. I don't mind liquid prescriptions because I can take a syringe and sneak it in the corner of his mouth. But the pills are more of a challenge.

Yes, I have tried to give him the pill with peanut butter, cheese, salami and ice cream. He manages to eat everything but the pill. One person suggested that I freeze the pill because then the pooch can't smell it as well. Since then I have read that a dog's olfactory senses are 100 times as sensitive as us humans. (I feel sorry for any dog around my Uncle Herbert after he has enjoyed his 5th chili dog)
I have used the "crush the sucker" method and hid th Rx in his favorite food. He takes one whiff and walks away with his paws folded across his chest. Sit down strike time.
Then there is the "jam it down his throat" protocol. Yeah, right. Bailey can move his head and dodge and duck better than the greatest boxer of all time. I can't land a pill any where close to the mouth, although I've had some luck sticking it in his nose.

I have even gone to great lengths to trick Bailey into believing the freshly cooked chicken wing only has ranch dressing on it...and then I make lip-smacking sounds that would make Rachel Ray seem like a quiet librarian.
It is so sad to see a grown 50-something year old woman do an imitation of a super-bowl celebration dance just because she managed to out-wit a 13 pound dog by finally getting it to swallow a grain-of-sand-size pill.

But I feel so accomplished when I finally get the job done...until I sweep the kitchen and find a little pink pill in the corner of the room...or look at Bailey's sweet face and see the intended cure-all stuck under his chin in his beard.

I think I'll stick to giving him a teaspoon of Irish whiskey on Saturday night.