I generally like to be near my human, jc. He was in the living room watching a movie, and I was laying in the office. Makeeta, the old cranky big dog, was laying in the doorway, so I couldn't get from the office to the living room. Sometimes when this happens I get frustrated and vent that frustration on things I'm not supposed to. Towels, shoes, socks, dish cloths, other odds and ends.
Cindy was out of town and jc had taken me and Makeeta out for our afternoon walkies. While picking up a package on the front porch, he set the leash on the table in our office, and forgot to pick it up. He was sitting there watching a movie [District 9, not bad --jc] and heard a noise. He came in, and found the leash laying on the floor, and part of the handle missing. That's because I pulled it off the table, chewed it into bite-sized chunks and swallowed it.
jc is not one to panic, but he does get upset. I got kinda got yelled and fussed at, and I knew he was pretty pissed at me. So I wagged my tail. He called the emergency clinic and they said "give him 2 tablespoons of hydrogen peroxide. If he doesn't throw up, give him two more in 15 minutes. If that doesn't do it, bring him and we'll give him an injection that will for sure make him throw up." Sooooo I got two tablespoons of hydrogen peroxide (H2O2, for you science-minded types), and then I was rushed outside. About 30 seconds later, I started hurking. And hurking some more. And again. And at least one more time. After about 15 minutes, I get another dose of H2O2 and go through this again. Nothing was coming up this time, but was I trying!
Then I get tied off to the porch railing (in case I hurk again), and jc snaps on some rubber gloves, gets a baggie, and starts poking through my barf-piles, picking out the bits of leash. You can see these in the picture above. We then go inside, where he proceeds to wash them off, lay them out and dry them. I'm thinking he's doing this so I can have them as snacks again later on, but apparently not. Rather, he gets the tape measure, figures out how much is there, and how much SHOULD be there. They appear close enough that he thinks none went though my stomach (I'm told it was fortunate that he noticed quickly, and that I also had some dinner still in my stomach when I chewed it up).
Well, I pretty much got the cold shoulder and glared at the rest of the evening. jc usually doesn't get put out with me, but this time, I think I really screwed up. Luckily we had some hydrogen peroxide in the cabinet, or he'd had been *really* put out with a $300 visit to the emergency room. Not to mention that leash was about $30, too, and he liked it a lot. There does seem to be enough to make a short lead, if he can find someone that works leather.
Over the next two days, I had my poop carefully scrutinized to make sure no leash bits were in it. While I'd have probably passed them, if they got tangled up in my intestines, I could have been in a world of hurt. Did I learn anything from this? Probably not.
Of course, jc can never stay mad at me for too long, so the next morning we were back on good terms, although I had a nick-name for a couple of days that I'm not sure was flattering. Is it bad to be called "Dumb-assed Dog"?
*woof*
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