Monday, November 28, 2011
Zombie Monday - the Further Adventures of GastroDog
I feel like a zombie, and more so than the typical Monday. Barkley, now forever known as "GastroDog", is happily sleeping on the floor with his toy after a couple of interesting evenings of "guess what I ate!"
It started out Saturday with the thought "I'm changing Barkley's name to Hoover".
He's always been a good dog about staying out of the kitchen until recently, when, with guests, dinners for two and holiday desserts, suddenly he's on alert for every crumb and goody that hits the floor and snagged more than one.
He rarely gets people food as it tends to upset his stomach. The occasional little piece of plain roast chicken, frozen peas (he loves them, nibbling them from your bare fingers like little ball bearings). But he's not particular. I've seen him chew on my old slipper, a lemon and a worm, all with the same gusto.
This weekend, guests gone, he just had dog food, no extra treats, but he snagged a big chunk of pepperoni before it even hit the floor as I assembled a homemade pizza. If a dog could smile, he would have. Later, I caught him in the garbage looking for more (once they've had a taste).
But spicy or greasy food and Barkley have never seen eye to eye.
He seemed just fine until 2 am Saturday night when I had a warm snoot in my face (and not in a good way). "I gotta go! I gotta go!" I know that panting and that dance. I found clothes and shoes and headed out the garage with him. He made a beeline for the corner of the property, 92 pounds of muscle pulling me like a Nantucket sleighride through the rain and the mud.
He wasn't kidding. He didn't just have to GO. . . .
Ever see the launch of the space shuttle?
Thar She Blows!
Once emptied, he seemed OK , drank some water and just went back to sleep. Sunday morning, he ate his bland breakfast I fixed per the vet. Within the hour he had to go out again. . now please!
Remember the Darwin Award where the guy allegedly attached a JATO bottle to the back of a car and it launched him into a cliff.
There are certain circumstances when there is not much difference between a JATO assisted 1967 Chevy Impala, and a labrador retriever digestive tract.
But once again, he seemed happy again after, snuffling at the floor in the kitchen for more pupperoni as if to say "it was so worth it". But I gave him just more chicken and rice. The vet said it was likely the spicy people food he snagged, and to feed him bland for another day and bring him in Monday if he wasn't better or if there were some other symptoms that she passed on. The day progressed. He seemed much better, sleeping on the couch for hours. I had to run an errand. I'd only be gone 20 minutes, I'm sure he'll be fine in the house as it's just pouring and cold out.
Wrong. I should have left him in the garage but it wasn't Barkley proofed with reloading stuff laying about in boxes. It's only 20 minutes. Right?
I came home to a happy dog sleeping on the couch and found he'd tagged the carpeting in my bedroom with the latest in intestinal graffiti.
OK, more chicken, more rice, lots of fresh, clean water. His eyes are clear, the symptoms were exactly what I saw when a friend fed him too much bacon once. I'll take him in to the vet if he's not better by tomorrow. But he seemed better, no running outside other then lifting his leg to leave a calling card on the neighbors front shrubs just to annoy their dog.
But there I was again, in "Victoria's Secret meets Carthart", standing out in a soaking cold rain at 1:30 in the morning so he could go into into full firehose mode, as I waved at my next door neighbor, the police officer who probably thinks I need a stylist, or a new dog.
I'm getting drenched as Barkley has to sniff a half an acre of property to decide just WHICH spot to go on again. I couldn't help but have that stupid song (Chicago? Donna Summer??) in my head. . .
Someone left the cake out in the rain
I don't think that I can take it
'cause it took so long to bake it
And I'll never have that recipe again
Sunday nights just don't get any more glamorous.
By the time I got in and dry it was almost 2 am. By the time I got warm and back to sleep it was 4. I was up at 4:30 to go to work. But he was much perkier and even wanted to play with his favorite toy which he hadn't done all weekend. My eyes looked like Chinese flags but Mr. Barkley is OK.
I promise you we'll play a bit after Mommy has a little nap (and probably a finger of good Scotch Whiskey).
I did hide the pizza menu though, don't need him ordering a pepperoni pizza for delivery while I snooze.