Back on Monday, Steve mentioned that Trixie started our week of insanity off with a bang. Oh boy, truer words were never spoken.
I went home for Thanksgiving. Things started off pretty well. At one point, my sister’s boyfriend asked if Trixie could have a bone. I wanted to see the bone to see what I thought. Oh my, it was a big bone. I asked him where he got it, and he said he got it from a butcher, and it was cooked and meant for dogs. It looked very strong and not easy for her to break up or choke on, so I thought ok, sounds good.
Later, dad said it looked pretty honkin’, so maybe he should cut it into two. He did, with a saw! I thought if you need a saw to cut through it, it’s probably safe.
Then I gave her a piece. She took it, and started gnawing on it. Before we knew it, the piece of bone was gone! Not worked down from big to small, gone. It didn’t exist anymore.
Then I noticed that she really needed to take extra trips outside all day, and she always had to do more than pee. I thought well, that was a lot of bone you ate there, pooch.
I went to bed thinking that if she did need something, she would wake me. She always had before. Not this time. I guess the poor thing knew she didn’t have time for such trifles as waking me. She booted it down the hall, looking for an exit nearest to a human. She found one, but the humans near the door didn’t get the message. And so…this was the first big accident she has had in the house. The poor thing, she really tried.
She apparently made two more of these trips before I even heard anything. My brother was in a bit of shock when mom and I came bounding out just in time to see him fling the door open for the dog. We freaked out a little because our yard isn’t fensed and I always leash her up. My brother threw on his shoes in case we had to chase down a dog. But after the poor thing exploded yet again, she came back to us.
It was then that she got sick…and up came chunks of bone. Dog, no wonder you’re sick! You’re not supposed to consume the damn thing. It was also then that I started to panic. I didn’t sleep a wink after that. All I could think was “Oh my god, she could have an intestinal blockage.” Visions of Trix having to go in for surgery were dancing in my head. And to make matters worse, I was six hours from my own vet. I’m sure the vet there would have done fine, but then there was the matter of eventually getting back home.
Whatever her fate would have been, I knew I wasn’t getting home that day with my sister since part of that trip would have been on a greyhound bus, and Trix was in no way ready to travel.
When I got up the next morning after not sleeping past 3, I was beside myself. It’s been a while since I’ve just openly bawled in front of mom, but I did that day. I blamed myself for letting Trixie have at the bone, I blamed myself for not watching carefully enough, anything I could blame myself for, I did. Mom had to tell me to “stop it!” Poor mom, she was probably frustrated beyond belief.
After not feeding Trix for about 24 hours since her last food, which she took pretty well, aside from running to every new person who got up as if to say, “Are you going to feed me? Maybe you can tell Carin she forgot to feed me!”, we started on some rice with boiled chicken in it. Wow, rice is amazing stuff. It wasn’t long before all the diarrhea stopped. And Trix thought this rice was pretty good stuff.
But once we got the diarrhea stopped, it was hard to get things started again. We gradually added food back in, but things were still pretty irregular. Finally, we were convinced she was good to travel, so mom and dad, being the sweethearts they are, drove me back here.
So the moral of this story is, no more bones for you, Trix! I don’t need any more heart attacks.