When this girl doesn’t even touch food,
you know there’s a problem!
No, not me… her.
Although, it could have been me!
Don’t be embarrassed for making that connection first!
I came home Tuesday to piles of dog vomit in the dining room;
the largest with undigested food;
then concentric smaller ones with just bile.
(You DO read this blog for a touch of getting real, don’t you?)
An interior, dog owner version of crap crop circles.
And when Oreo didn’t go near her food that night –
or the next morning -
I knew she was the culprit.
A quick trip to drop her off at the Vets for the day yesterday
so they could diagnose her
led to confirmation of my diagnosis –
intestinal blockage.
Visions of the doc
pulling a pair of my granny panties
out her gut
had me temporarily mortified
but a three hour surgery
actually discovered
pieces of a chew toy,
fishing line,
grass
and animal bone.
A bezoar of the bizarre –
considering I don’t own any fishing tackle –
where the hell did THAT come from?
It’s only money…
the refrain I keep hearing
over and over again –
and, of course, everyone is right;
it is.
Only, truth be told,
I can think of a multitude of other ways
I’d rather spend $2000.00!
Almost 2000 other ways, in fact!
Damn.
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