Tag Archives: (mis)adventures

One dog, shaken, not stirred . . . .

It started out as a normal working-dog day, last Wednesday. Her was home, as she was not feeling well. There was still snow, and if I can feel the cold in my joints and my spine, I know she can, so I laid on the charm, snuggled hard in bed, kept my chin upon her hip, and between my wisdom and the other mom’s insistence, we convinced her staying home and keeping the dog out of the crate resting was in order!

What a stupid idea. No sooner had the other mom left for work than a fog of non-thinking, crazy-making craziness descended upon the house hold. Mom thought to count her medicine, in the darkest room in the house, without actually paying much attention. And then she thought she dropped one, though she wasn’t sure. And because she was already unwell, and lost in a haze of confusion, the logical conclusion was not that she did not drop one but rather that she dropped one, and because I was underfoot (Call me Corbie J. Underfoot!), obviously I partook of the Tramadol.

Because I run around taking medicine off the floor. Because I take my own pills without them having to be buried in treat-goodness.

Oh, right. No, I don’t.

Before my very slightly cataract-ed eyes, she dissolved into panic . . . and then the fun began! She called the other mom for advice, and the other mom said that it was better (BETTER!!) to induce vomiting than to run the risk that I’d over dose on tramadol. (While in general I’d agree, the very idea that I would take the cursed tramadol is absurd, and I don’t know why they both took leave of their senses. Women!)

She poisoned my water. When I wouldn’t drink it — I am not a stupid dog! — she took a syringe and dosed me with the hydrogen peroxide. She tried to make up for that by giving me some toast, but it was burnt. And then she marched me around the house. And then she picked me up and SHOOK ME. And then we went for a walk. What. The. Hell.

Hello! Heart condition? Was this stress test doctor prescribed? No, it was not.

When the other mom finally got home I was GLUED to her side.

Why didn’t she just give me more butter, if she wanted to induce vomiting? That would have been awesome!

I see my doctor tomorrow. You better believe she’s going to hear about this. The dog needs tranquility. Tranquility, and sticks of butter.

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