Bad Dog! BAD BAD DOG!

"BAD DOG! BAD BAD DOG!", I said as I walked through the door and saw the nightmare that would haunt me an entire eight hour span in which I should have been sleeping.

"Oh God. Those brownies had chocolate in them. He is going to be so sick. Oh God." And the tears began to well in my eyes.

You see, yesterday at work, a client sent in a wonderful box filled with chocolate chip cookies, Andes Mint Brownies, Blondies and Chocolate Caramel brownies. I, being the pig I am, decided to take what was not eaten at work home for Taylor and myself to enjoy after dinner.

When Taylor came by to head out to dinner, he peeked in the box. He just couldn't resist taking just a bite of that Andes Mint brownie. It was divine! He placed the rest back in the box on the living room coffee table. We headed out to dinner.

As we walked back in the door, bellies full from a great dinner, to my terror, I saw that my evil kiiiiiidy boy had knocked that box of brownies onto the floor and my dear sweet peter was eating part of the last two remaining brownies. There had previously been about 9 cookies/brownies left in the box and after dinner, only two remained.

Panic..oh the panic. I was panicking and frantic. I was emotional but was trying to hold it in. I knew I was going to be faced with a dilemma. I don't have the money for the emergency vet (and probably Bill Gates would have trouble affording it!) but if he had to go, I would find a way...somehow...

I estimated that it had been roughly two hours at most that he had ingested the chocolate. As I sat on the couch, thumbing through the yellow pages for emergency veternarian service, I felt something scratchy on my elbow. I lean into the folds of the pillows beside me to find that Peter had HIDDEN A BROWNIE in the pillows on the couch. I was in disbelief! At least that was one he hadn't eaten...because I was thinking there is not a chance in hell he would live after eating seven brownies!

I began rummaging through the throw pillows on the couch to find ANOTHER BROWNIE hidden behind FOUR PILLOWS. And then another, wrapped up under a blanket! HE HAD EATEN FOUR BROWNIES and HID THREE MORE FOR LATER!

This is the only point in which I laughed. I was terrified and angry with him, but that dog is a fighter. He knew his little stomach couldn't hold but four, but he damn sure wanted those other three for later. For all the things that he is not, I will tell you that he is smart and has his mother's sweet tooth.

After speaking with the emergency vet, I didn't know what to do. They wanted me to bring him in and have his stomach pumped, much like a human who has alcohol poisoning. It was at the critical time between two and four hours and this is the only time it would be effective treatment. What do I do?

I decided to watch him for the next two hours, if he got sick, I would rush him to the vet. If not, I knew I was in store for a long night! He apparead coherent but I knew he had a tummy ache. It was very similar to a child who moans and makes those little sick noises when it has diaherria or constepation...bless his sweet little heart. Taylor and I read online that in some cases dogs who ingest chocolate can go into a coma. That is what I feared most. I could clean the poop and vomit, but coma, seizures, I would not be able to deal with. As I finished my book (THE ALCHEMIST...GO GET IT RIGHT NOW!) I looked over at Peter, lithargic on the bed. I began violently shaking him, and....he woke up. He was in a sugar and caffeine high that his tiny body and petite frame had never experienced.

Since I realized he was alive, I let him lay back down in peace. Just had to check, ya know. Maybe an hour later, he stood up and whimpered while staring at his water bowl. I knew he needed to get down and get water. That is another symptom of ingestion of chocolate, frequent thirst. So I let him down, instructed him to drink some water ( which he did like a big boy!) and helped him back into bed. This cycle continued all night. I would shake him out of his sleep to know he was alive. He would wake me to let him down for water. Up and down, all night long.

I finally got two consecutive hours of sleep from about 5:00-7:00 during which I was dreaming of how I was going to make out the words amidst the uncontrollable tears to tell my boss that my dog was dead. It was the most aweful gutwrentching dream I can remember.

I arose in a cold sweat and looked to the end of the bed to see Peter curled up with eyes closed. My hands trembled as I reached to pet him, hoping that I would not find my biggest fear. Much to my delight, his little eyes popped open and his little tail began to wag. Not only was he alive, he was feeling better!

I looked to the floor to see that he did have an accident, but it was the greatest accident of my life. That meant that food was still passing through, so I knew he was going to be alright!

Anyone who knows me is fully aware of what my dog has meant to me. My eyes water just thinking about the day that he will not be around anymore. My dog has been with me through the roughest times in my life. God gave him to me two years ago and it was one of the greatest gifts I have ever been given. When you move to a big city, live alone and are trying to start a new life, the beginning, and even sometimes in between, life gets really lonely. I know my dog will always be there when I come home, over joyed that mommy has returned to him after being away for too long. I know he will always want to snuggle in the bed when it gets really cold. He will always be there licking my hand as I sit and cry. The point is, he is always there.

When I graduated from college, my parents were unsure as to what to give me for a graduation gift. I wanted a dog. I sought out the breeder, and with the help of someone who is now insignificant, I picked up the greatest gift I have ever received. You know, there are people in life that no matter how much disdain you have for them, how bad of a person that you think they are, the provide one ray of sunshine into your life, and for that reason alone, it is only disdain, it never turns to hate. I can disdain the circumstances in which I got my sweet puppy, but I can never truly hate the person that helped me find him, because of the sunshine my dog has brought into my life.

It is in times of strife that we can measure a man's (or dog's) character. My dog is just like his mommy...he is a fighter. He doesn't give up.