Tag Archives: dogs

new school year, new classmates

It’s time for school (can I hear an “amen,” moms?) which usually means entering a new setting with a new classroom, new teacher, and new classmates.

At first, others might seem lazy.
Or perhaps their insecurities manifest as a tad Napoleon complex-like.
But given a little getting-to-know-you time…
and a some relaxed, one-on-one time…
you just might get close…
and find his crooked ears don’t bug you nearly so much anymore.

[no, we didn’t get another dog. our neighbor got a puppy this summer and our beauty, Becca, is obviously still not too sure about him]

a dog’s chocolate crisis, or maybe the mom’s crisis?

The dog of Let the Dog in had a normal eating day crisis this week. She ate 8.5 ounces of dark, 70% cocoa, chocolate, including little gold foil wrappers.

Unlike the hubs who lives partially under a rock, which also explains his lack of tan, you probably already know about the toxicity of chocolate for dogs. If you have a dog, you should. [Raisins and grapes are possibly toxic, too, btw.]

Like any good crisis, this crisis happened at night, after any animal clinic within 10 miles of my house was closed for the day. If I took her to the 24-hour place, it’d probably cost $1000, which is more than what we paid for our little pure bred, garbage-gut, bed-hogging, leash-pulling pooch (we totally would have taken her if she even sneezed a little that night, truth be told).

[I just want to add, in case someone is thinking I’m a worthless idiot unfit for dog ownership a careless dog owner, that this chocolate was in an unopened box, wrapped in cellophane, on the kitchen counter, inside another box, and had been for 3 days, and still the beast ate about 20 pieces.]

So, naturally, I consulted with Dr. Google. Did you know he’s not only a human doctor, but an animal doctor, too? Really, a versatile guy. He said to watch for symptoms like vomiting (did you know there’s only 1 “t” in “vomiting”? shouldn’t it be 2? so it’s not “vo-might-ing?”), diarrhea, drooling, trembling, and seizures.

He also had charts for weights of dogs and amount and kind of chocolate eaten. Our dog was on the high side of the online toxicity chart.

See me, dogmom, FREAK OUT.

After I informed him of all the info I learned online, the hubs took it all in stride. “Let’s go to bed, Boo Boo,” he said to the patient.

How am I supposed to monitor for symptoms if she goes to sleep???

Sleep?! Is that extreme drowsiness?? Uh-oh. I strained to hear breathing from her crate all night long.

Wait a minute! She’s in her crate?? Is she feeling okay? Why isn’t she pushing me off the bed??

In the morning, she got up, drank (extreme thirst, another symptom???), ate her breakfast, and relaxed on the couch.

She even pooped, you’ll be glad to know, a big poop (practically no sign of foil, btw). The poop I had to search for in the brush and ferns in our yard in the pouring rain, in my pj’s and slippers. All totally necessary to save the life of our dying dog.

I started to finally relax that morning. Until she barfed up all her breakfast. Vomiting?! A-ha!! Ignoring the laid-back comments emanating from the hubs, who picked this crisis to channel the spirit of an old surfer, I rushed her to the vet, with swirls of her short, 7-year life flashing before my eyes.

You’re not a pain…I really do love you…I don’t mind that begging at the table and the jumping on the toy chest to see out the window…I love when you take a sock or shoe and move it all over the house so we can’t ever find it…and I will never, ever complain about you wanting outside and back in a second later every frickin’ day.

The doctor gave her an IV and watched her most of the day. He said a 60lb dog could eat at least 12 ounces of dark chocolate and be okay. Well, she’s not 60lbs, she’s 55lbs., and this was premium, 70% stuff, and….whatever. Did he go to a better school than Dr. Google?!

Suffice it to say, I had a hard time believing.

They let her go home later that afternoon and said she’d be fine. I’m not sure why, but they all talked in a soft, sweet tone to me with their eyebrows raised slightly. I even got a pat on the arm.

Meanwhile, I’m still monitoring her, and I’m telling you, she looked sort of groggy when I woke her up she woke up, and she’s back to sleep on the couch right now, snoring.

Snoring? Is that a symptom? I need to check with Dr. Google.

come out, come out

The other night I was trying to sleep, between the dog’s attempt at dumping me on the floor and the hubs’ rollover/hog-more-than-half move, when I heard the Kid enter the room. She is supposed to stay in her bed (until 7am), but there she was, all dark and silent lurking.

“Kid, go back to bed,” I sighed to the darkness, knowing she’s there, hearing her breathing, from somewhere.


I don’t sleep with my contacts in so I couldn’t see past my eyelashes even if the lights were on. But I knew she was there. I got up, went to the bathroom, and gave her some to time show herself. Still nothing. No surrendering.

I kinda figured she slid in next to the hubs since she knew I wanted her out. But when I squinted over that direction, no Kid.

Hm. Floor? Under the bed? Where is that Kid? I considered the options while I got back in the bed. Then I heard a thunk. Coming from the dog’s crate. The giant dog crate which the dog sleeps in once every full moon or so for twenty minutes must always have available as her “special safe place” according to the hubs. “Be the dog,” he always says. And what a lovely place it is! Plastic box big enough for an orangutan with side slits, metal grate door, and dog fur-covered, smelly old pillow on the dirty inside floor. Dog heaven.
“Kid? Get out of there and go back to your bed!” I whispered as loud as I could while still technically whispering.

“It’s more comfortable here!”

So I left her there. I’m pretty sure there’s no harm there. CPS don’t call me. She liked it in there. Her choice.

We sure could have saved a lot of money spent on her trundle bed if I’d known her preference for plastic kennels. Although we’d probably have to spend it on additional flea collars.

Dogs don’t shoot people….

Dog suspected in Tillamook Bay shooting

By Associated Press
PORTLAND, Ore. (AP) – A Tillamook man sustained a leg injury when his 12-gauge shotgun accidentally discharged during a duck-hunting trip on Tillamook Bay.
The Oregon State Police says the man’s dog is the prime suspect.
Sgt. Todd Hoodenpyl says 23-year-old Matthew Markum and his younger brother were using an aluminum boat to go from land to their decoys Saturday morning. When the men left the boat, a shotgun blast put a hole in the side of the boat before striking Markum’s leg.
Hoodenpyl says the yellow Labrador had been on the boat and may have touched the gun.
An ambulance took the injured hunter to a local hospital. He was later transferred to a Portland’s Legacy Emanuel Hospital.
The extent of Markum’s injury has not been released.

Suuuure, blame the dog. He also drank all your Jim Beam.

This now concludes this week’s installment of Make Me Laugh Monday, hosted by Jenny on the Spot. Come read and play in MMLM!