Top Chef vegetarian with special percentages of triglicerides edition.

We spent a long time in the vet office yesterday, the fancy vet where the specialists are. Gustavo had an ultrasound, and the good news is he doesn’t have any tumors lurking around inside him. What his results did confirm is that he’s got hepatatic microvascular dysplasia.

It’s a long name that means he was born with extra blood vessels going to his liver that work sort of like the metering lights on freeway onramps. Maybe you don’t have those by you. Around here, if you have to drive in rush hour traffic in San Jose, all these danged lights stop up traffic getting on the freeway to keep the freeway, which is already jammed, from jamming up. Good luck getting anywhere on time when the metering lights are on.

This is different than an actual liver shunt, which would just be like taking a different road altogether. The long way round. He doesn’t have a different road, just a bunch of extra little onramps that are screwing up the blood flow into his liver.

I think like if you got a mitten that had 17 thumbs instead of just one.

Weirdo. Who needs all those thumbs?

And the problem is, during the traffic jams, instead of putting on lipstick or reading the paper or working on your computer which are all actual things I have seen people do during traffic jams, Gustavo’s blood turns into ammonia in his brain. Which makes him go weirdo.

Mitten with 17 thumbs.

There are some very fancy and interesting chemistry words for all of this. But in a world where everybody wants to get into the carpool lane and zoom along and never hit traffic, Gustavo is always going to be start and stop and not always actually get onto the freeway due to mitten thumbs. And the more stop and start you have, the more your liver shrivels up into a crusty, horrible raisin and starts skipping work and lays around passed out on the couch and eventually loses their job and gets thrown out of the house and ends up sitting on the freeway onramp with a little cardboard sign and you can imagine how it goes after that.

So what can we do?

Put him on some maybe forever medicines. And change his food a lot. I also have many chemistry notes for this, but basically, he is going to be the biggest hippie you have ever seen. Specific amounts of tofu, brown rice, raw potatoes and cottage cheese. All the broccoli and carrots he wants. Mix this in with some of the special dog food you buy at the vet that isn’t really that healthy except does actually have the special amounts and percentages for amino acid trigliceride chain of peripheral catabolism something something something.

I got to get cooking.

I know lots of people who feed their dogs glistening chunks of chickens and mammals. Defrosted necks and stomachs and leg bones fill up their freezers and get tossed to the dogs on the floor. We never did this, but Gustavo sure does love him some carne asada bits out of tacos. No more. People love giving him treats, but if you see Gustavo, just pet him instead. He will love you just the same. Unless you brought him a carrot. He can eat some of the same things as ponies. And oatmeal. And barley. And quinoa.

I feel a cooking show coming on.