Part II

Feeling a bit better and wearing clean, dry pants, we headed for home.  I knew Abner wasn't feeling well from talking to my mom earlier so I was anxious to get home and see his condition.  He was pathetic.  The poor guy did not feel well at all.  He was all out of sorts, sitting still and not bothering anything.  Guys, he was being a perfect angel, that is not a good sign.

We fed him some dinner (mistake) and headed for bed.  I was going to let him sleep in bed with us as a special treat, but he curled up in his own bed so I left him there.  I spent the first part of the night staring at him trying to get comfortable, then he spent a while staring at me like, "Mom, I am not comfortable!"  Finally I got up to see if he needed to go to the bathroom but all he did was stare, driving the knife deeper and deeper into my heart.

I must have drifted off to sleep because the next sound I heard was of his nails clicking on the hardwood.  Assuming he needed to go out I rolled out of bed and that is when I saw his face; he was petrified!  His ears were flat against his head and he was shaking and panting with his eyes bulging out and a rock hard abdomen.  All he did was pace back and forth trying to find some relief.

I quickly woke up Ryan who suggested we drive him to the emergency vet.  We were dressed and out the door in about 30 seconds.  The drive over seemed like an eternity, hitting red lights was torture.  We finally arrived and I carried Abner in still panting and shaking and now pissed off that we were taking him to the vet  of all places.

4 hours, 2 x-rays, 1 poop, 3mm of pain meds, and a bill that made my stomach turn later, we headed for home.  This time the drive was quick but all I could think of was what if we need to get him back?  Maybe we should have asked to spend the night in the waiting room or perhaps slept in the car parked out front.  Why didn't I think to ask the Dr. x, y, and z?

Around 4:30am, we pulled into the driveway and walked inside.  Lilly greeted us with a sideways grin that could only mean one of two things; she shit the bed or she ate something she wasn't supposed to.  With trepidation I walked into the living room and the evidence was ALL OVER.  Those gingerbread men didn't stand a chance, she caught them, every last one. 

I looked at her, looked at Abner, and looked up into the sky, "WHY, WHY CAN'T MY DOGS JUST BE NORMAL?  WHY UNIVERSE, WHY?"

I just got home from the vet because one of my dogs has indiscriminate ingestion problems and now my other dog is eating gingerbread men with fucking RED HOT BUTTONS on their coats and who knows how much plastic wrapper went down with them. Please, please let my cat come and vomit on the duvet, it would be the perfect topper to this day. 

None of us slept that night.

The next day my mom took Abner to his regular vet while I was at work trying to stay awake, not cry and try to get my mind off of weather or not the pee pee nerve can hurt the baby.  His vet said the same thing as everyone else, which is pretty much that they have no idea what is wrong.  He ate something bad.  Um, obvious but thanks.  A bland diet, some antiacid, lots of laying in front of the heater and many, many holes started through him later, things are looking up. 

Yesterday was his first day back on his normal diet and I am pleased to report that he has SOLID POOP.  We still have no idea what he ate, but he is a complete pain in the ass, getting into everything, bothering everyone and being his old self again, a terrorist pygmy hippo.

Earlier today I was trying to fold laundry while he was crawling all over it, barking at me, bringing me toys like I had nothing better to do than to play with him and being a general pain.  I found myself getting frustrated but then I remembered that just a few days ago I would have given my left arm for him act like this, to be himself, and it got me thinking. 

Now, I know he is a dog, but he is my child, and like human children he is sometimes very trying.  I imagined myself for a moment with a sick child and it got me thinking about this young woman I saw the other day screaming at her toddler for being loud and running about the store.  I couldn't help but wonder, would she be pleading with God for her child to run around and scream if he were sick in bed, I imagine she would.

Then I started crying. 

I blame the future child that will probably one up my dogs in every joy and worry.  Is it too late to back out of this?