Let me start this story by saying: He’s fine. And it’s a Thanksgiving miracle.
Who? Me?
We spent the long Thanksgiving weekend at my parents’ house, which is doggy heaven. They have a big yard with lots of places to run and hide. There’s a wood pile to pee on, squirrels to chase, a duck pond to bark at (the ducks, not the pond), and tons of toys and sticks to chew. My sister has two dogs, my mom has a dog, my aunt has a dog… At the holidays, the house and yard become a dog park. They run and play, then come inside for snuggles, scratches, and treats, then back out the dog door to chase a rabbit out of the garden.
Doggy heaven.
My mom’s dog, Otto, is tiny. You can scoop him up with one hand. As an aside, he and Lucas are besties because Otto is convinced he’s as big and tough as Lucas, and Lucas is convinced that he’s as small and whimpy as Otto.
Lucas and Otto
Because Otto is so small, my parents are used to leaving whatever on the counters because there’s no way he can get up there. When we visit, because of Emmett’s extensive counter-surfing experience, we move all food-related items off the counters and into the stove or microwave. However, there is this huge glass treat jar that lives on my mom’s desk. It’s been there forever and has never drawn any interest from Emmett, except when we give him treats from it, of course.
Friday night my family went out to dinner. Afterwards, John and I were going to pick up a movie. Before we got to the Redbox, my mom called. “Major destruction. Come home now.”
We hightailed it back to the house, debating the whole way on what could have happened.
We arrived home to find, first, that Emmett had gone in the laundry room and pulled the boys’ dog food off the top of the wash machine. And ate all of it. That was his food, Lucas’ food, and Cooper’s food for the next day, so five cups total.
Then, in the kitchen, Emmett pulled the giant glass jar off the counter. It had shattered. Glass was everywhere, but there were no treats to be found. That jar is always stuffed full with small rawhides for Otto, biscuits, and so on. Every single piece… gone. In the family room, he pulled a box of Crayons out of my nephew’s toy box and ate his way through those.
His stomach was humongous. I feared bloat. Plus, with all the shattered glass, I was terrified that he had eaten some as he inhaled all the treats. Thankfully, Otto and Cooper were both in their crates and safely out of harm’s way. We checked Emmett and Lucas from head to toe, and – here’s the miraculous part – neither one of them had as much as a scratch on them.
All the dogs went outside while we cleaned up the glass, which had exploded all over the kitchen and spread into the living room. Every couple of minutes, we checked on Emmett.
In the meantime, we called the emergency vet, who was in the middle of an emergency and had to call us back.
Emmett’s stomach was inflated, but not sore. He wagged his tail. He didn’t pant or drool. We had been gone for hours, so it was a total miracle that he didn’t experience bloat, especially with all that rawhide (which we never, ever, ever give him anyway). Once the floor was clean, they came inside and fell asleep.
Later, the vet called us back. Normally, she said, they induce vomiting when it’s a quantity issue, but since he may have ingested some glass that was a bad idea. She said to watch for signs of distress and call back.
At that point, it was almost 10:00. We left Emmett with my parents and ran out to buy Cooper and Lucas food for the next day (Emmett was getting NOTHING) and pick up a movie so that we could all stay up and monitor him.
I was convinced that he’d have a bathroom emergency at some point in the night, but he never did.
On Saturday, he went once, but his stomach was still huge. We didn’t feed him breakfast – and, man, was he pissed – then for dinner we gave him a couple tablespoons of wet food with pumpkin puree to help move things along. Same thing for breakfast this morning. He’ll get the same thing for dinner tonight and until he… eliminates… the rest of all that junk he ate.
We’re on the right track, though.
This morning he pooped a box of Crayons.
Happy Thanksgiving!
out of the library. Before I get into the review, I have to admit: I’m not convinced that Emmett is getting old. He’s probably 8ish, but he’s busy and spry. But there are signs. Like his muzzle, which I don’t even notice until I’m downloading pics like this off of my camera:
