Monday, November 22, 2010
How sad and a little bizarre that our life has turned into this. Who woulda thought. Our life now seems to be controlled by an eight pound little rescue mutt. A few weeks after he came to live with us and become our ruler we celebrated by ordering pizza. Uncle Dave even came to meet up with the little rascal. The little munchkin was given pizza.
After a trip to the vets office, pills, prescription and less a bundle of money it was presumed the little guy had a delicate tummy. All table foods were off limits. I bought special dog food and life moved along.
Then, I made the fatal mistake. I gave the little bugger a piece of pizza crust. Can't remember what the occasion was for more pizza. But who needs a special occasion to order pizza.
So, the little guy snarfed down that pizza crust like a snapping turtle. A day later he was lethargic, crying (so pitiful) and very clingy. The light bulb went on inside my pigeon brain and I admitted to hubby about the pizza.
The watch begins. When will he poop it out. A search of the Internet begins in earnest. How to mend the tummy of a canine. Mineral oil popped up several times. Off I go to the store and buy canned dog food and mineral oil. Mix it together and wait for the dump. Day two - no poop. More mineral oil and more canned dog food.
More research on the Internet. Of course the little bugger can't get a tummy ache on a weekday - always a weekend.
Day three - more canned dog food and mineral oil. We walk around like fools searching for a pot of gold but in reality we are looking for him to poop. We follow him like a bad dream. In the darkness of the night we follow with a flashlight looking for a drop of the nasty.
Finally on day three it comes out. A little runny. Okay stop with the mineral oil. We are taking the little baby on his first trip across state and we can't have a dog with the trots riding down and interstate with no place to stop and drop a mess.
So we continue our vigil and watch him when he discards his remains in the back yard. Watching and waiting for the mess to thicken and life will get back to normal. Well - maybe. Then - what's normal. Certainly not following a dog around in the dark of the night with a flashlight waiting for him to poop.
So we have become vigilante poop inspectors. What a fine job to have and hold. Wait - don't step in that!