My dogs can be the ABSOLUTE BIGGEST MORONS! Do you know what tastes incredible? Weed and Feed. According to Jewels, who in minutes ate through a bag that we took out of the shed to get the lawn mower out. WEED AND FEED!
I have the emergency vet on speed dial, so I phoned them up and apparently they have call display, because do you know how they answered? Not with “Hello”, there was no “How are you”, because there might not be time for small talk with the life and death situations they hear about from me. They answered, “What did Abner do now?”
Abner… He’s lucky he’s cute, because I think that we’ve paid for at least one veterinarian’s full salary. Aside from the parasite he caught, and the weird episode of SEVERE colitis he had, he’s been in the hospital a million times for reasons due ENTIRELY to him being a moron.
Catapolting himself from the bed, to the nightstand, to the dresser to get children’s Motrin. Not once, not twice but THREE times. That caused his liver some severe damage, made better only by the veterinary induced vomiting, charcoal and some serious IV fluids.
Eatting an ENTIRE jar of diaper rash cream, well, that just made him sick.
When Jewels knocked over our DOG PROOF (haha, they underestimate the mastermind of a terrier) garbage, he ate a whole container of instant espresso that I had used for making a cake. He nearly gave himself a heart attack, it was like a Yorkie on speed. You could FEEL the size of his heart as it tried to pump out of his chest and race him down the street. In fact, it probably did a few laps at the speed of light and jumped back in his chest before we were able to take notice.
And suprisingly, husbands are just as idiotic as dogs.
“Rob, you can’t give dogs spare ribs, they can become shards as they’re chewed and rip open their insides as they’re digested. Give Abner one of his dog chews.”
Rob rolls his eyes (most likely, I was looking at Abner chewing on the sparerib Rob just gave him).
“Rob, seriously, rib bones are not for dogs.”
“The rib is as big as he is, there’s no way he can chew enough of it off to puncture him. Relax.”
“It will be on you if Abner dies then from having his intestines ripped open.”
Rob rolls his eyes again (most likely, I was ignoring him now) and goes to take away the rib from Abner to avoid further discussion. BUT, with the threat of losing his prize, Abner swallows it whole. And the one thing that Rob was right about in this dialogue was that the freakin’ bone was as big as Abbie. It shouldn’t have been biologically possible, but my dogs defy all odds. The vet thought that without surgery, it would most likely kill him as it contorted it’s way through his body. And if vomiting was induced, it would rip up his esophogus. But somehow, it went all the way through him just fine, with Abner looking up at me as if to say, “I don’t know what all the fuss was about. It’s just a bone. Dogs eat bones all the time.”
Ridiculous. And this was just this year.
But that’s Abner, and this phone call is about Jewels, who normally requires limited veterinary visits for her yearly check up, shots and the occasional binge on rocks. Yes, she is a rock eatter. But rocks are not poison, so her weird food fetish wasn’t as bothersome before.
I explain to the vet what’s happened, and there’s a pause. “You can bring her in, but by the time it will take you to get into the city and over here, with the amount she’s eatten, all that we will be able to do is put her out of her pain.”
Are you KIDDING me? Jewels’ ridiculousness is ultimately going to KILL her? No, this is NOT going to happen. I’ve put up with WAY too much crap from these beasts for them to die on me. I have the Weed and Feed bag in front of me and ask her to double check her info. It’s the C-I-L Bio-Weed and Feed. She’s been looking at the Scott’s brand (which we also have in our shed), so she pulls up her info online. Apparently, the bio brand is all natural, and although harmful when consumed, is not completely toxic. Jewels will have a severe stomach ache, and by this time, after thinking she was dead and gone, this is a complete relief. She came THIS CLOSE to death, and later that night I catch her with paws up on the kitchen counter trying to claw her way to bran muffins. A stomach ache serves her right!
24 hours pass, and she’s good, in the clear! Alive and well.
48 hours pass, and OH MY GOD! Her farts! I think that I’M going to be the one to die from stink overload. It was brutal. I’ve let her sleep in bed with me, in case she needs to go out in the night due to tummy issues, and now I cannot escape the stench. It’s permeated into every fiber of my being. I think I’m going to have to rewash all of our clothes on the upper level of our home that have been permanently stinkified. My bedding? It needs to be BURNED! I swear, even my hair smells like dog fart. I’d tell you to take a whiff to proof my point, but you would probably keel over and die.
So, as said, my dogs are the ABSOLUTE BIGGEST MORONS. Disgusting! If anyone’s interested in adopting two terriers, be my guest!
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