During the day I came home early to let him out, hoping to forestall a repeat. Unfortunately, I was too late. I let him out and cleaned up again.
I saw him lying in the "poop area" of the yard. And I thought, "Poor guy, he's so ill he doesn't know what he's doing." He lay there looking up at me as if he were about to pass out.
I had to nearly drag him inside. He wouldn't come. It was like he didn't have the energy to move. He'd walk a foot and then lay down. I kept encouraging him and tugging on his collar. Eventually he got inside.
I gave him something for the diarrhea, even though he had stopped eating. He still drank water, though, so I figured he was okay.
The following day he still was not eating. Now I became concerned. He slept all the time and was listless. I felt so sorry for him and sat beside him petting him. And noticed his forehead was hot. Very hot. I gave him something for the fever. The fever went away within the hour and he was pretty much back to his normal self.
The next morning he was up and jumping around as if he were five years younger.
As I thought it over I realized he knew exactly what he was doing. He quit eating to stop the diarrhea and lay outside near the poop area to minimize travel time. It was chilly out there, so the cold ground cooled his fever.
I suppose even without medication he would have recovered, yet I feel I did my part. Even if a bit heavy handedly.