So I really didn’t think that one of my first blog posts would be about dog vomit. But I suppose that’s appropriate with a blog titled ‘In The Messy’. I mean, what did I expect? If you build it, the messes will come…
Yesterday evening after picking Henry up from math, the kids and I came home to find about two dozen pink and silver foil wrappers scattered across the dining room floor. And the kitchen floor. And the living room floor. At the end of the trail was (what used to be) an almost full bag of Dove chocolate hearts. Now empty.
I had intended to use the chocolates as little prizes in a Bible study class that I teach to middle-schoolers (because God created chocolate, of course, and it is His desire for goodness to be shared in His name). But we had run out of time during class, so I gave a few to my friends and then put the bag into my satchel. And of course, upon arrival home, I dumped my satchel onto the floor … because I’m messy like that. I never dreamed that the devil would take what God intended for good and instead use it for harm against our curious, chocoholic Springer puppy.
So upon discovering the bag, the kids and I searched frantically for Moz. Henry, who is the most compassionate of all creatures, was
going cray cray extremely concerned, screaming, “Is she going to DIE?! Oh NOOOOOO! She isn’t going to DIE, is she?! MOZZIE?! MOZZZZZZZIE?! TELL ME SHE’S NOT GOING TO DIE, MOM!” I have to admit, I was a bit worried because of course most of us know about the possibility of chocolate being toxic to dogs. We found Moz. She wasn’t foaming at the mouth, but she did have very nice breath. Mmm…chocolatey yumminess.
So of course the first thing I do it post to Facebook– because I’m
a compulsive poster concerned and want the advice of friends. In the meanwhile, I confiscate the culprit and call our vet (shameless plug for Fenwick). The receptionist nurse was extremely responsive and rattled off questions: “Dark or milk? … How many ounces? … Is her heart thumping out of her chest? How long as it been? … and then … Hold on.” After a minute, she came back to the phone: “Dr. Meiers would like for you to induce vomiting.” Geez… really?! (Not what I was hoping to hear.) And of course Mark is at the basketball game, so I will be inducing vomiting on my own. Great. Normally I would request this would be his job. “Are you familiar with inducing vomiting?” the nurse asked. (Um, no…) “So you’ve never done this before?” (Um, NO?!!!?!) So she told me the plan… said to call back when it was finished… and I began to sweat.
I manage to pry open Moz’s jowls and pour a 1/4-cup of hydrogen peroxide down her throat– forcing her snout closed and watching painfully as she chokes it down. Those big brown eyes are searching mine, saying, “What the hell are you doing to me, YOU CRAZY PERSON!” Now she is foaming at the mouth… and begins dry heaving. But nothing more. I wait… and wait… and wait… and then begin feeling like now I’ve really damaged her. Not only does she have a bag of chocolate in her belly, but now she’s got a bleaching agent stewing in there as well. I call the vet, and she says not to repeat the induction if a quarter cup didn’t do the trick… so again, I wait. (I might also add that the vet told me to call them back if Moz started acting ‘like a person who had OD’d on Speed’. Um, okaaaaay… I just happen to see that ALL the TIME; thanks.)
So an hour later, I hear Mozzie ring her little doggie door bell. Walking into the family room, I see her standing by the door with her sweet but guilty expression. Then my eyes gaze down to the darkest-of-dark pile right beside her… on the Frances Lee Jasper* rug. “NOT THE FRAN JASPER!” I exclaim. “Oh, NOOOOOOO! The FRAN JASPER!” But then, “YAY! You puked, Mozzie! YAAAAAAAAAAY! PUKEY! Oh, GOOD for YOU, girl! Goooooood Pukey!” And ten minutes later, two more little darkest-of-dark piles are discovered. And celebrated.
There’s nothing quite like your dog hurling two dozen partly-digested chocolates onto the nicest rug in the house… three times. And especially when there’s a wood floor only 2″ from where she laid her vomit to rest. I mean, Moz doesn’t know that the floor is a better place to vomit. How could she? Or maybe she does, and this was her little way of teaching me a lesson:
It’s just a rug.
IT. IS. JUST. A. RUG.
So I clean and scrub and rinse and scrub and scour and rinse and collapse. When the blue towel came out of the washing machine, this is what I found left inside the washing machine.
So another lesson is learned In The Messy this week. My dog is alive, my chocolates are stored outside of her reach, and It Is Just a Rug. Thank you, Mozzie.
*For those of you who aren’t in Louisville (or even if you are) and don’t know what a Fran Jasper rug is: Frances Lee Jasper Oriental Rugs is sort of a Louisville icon, housed in a historic fire station in a really hip part of Louisville.