Ok, so recently I was having, yanno, a bad day. One of THOSE days. And during the course of it, the dog swallowed a candy necklace, which I thought little of, being awfully busy yelling at small people and tripping over small people and muttering unkind things under my breath about the small people and all, plus the dishwasher and the laundry and lunch, oh, lunch, can’t I have chocolate milk with my lunch?
And after a bit I noticed that the dog was gagging, and after a longer bit I noticed that she was still gagging and had been, for a while, and I racked my brain, which took remarkably long for something so small, and came up with…the string on the necklace. Not something I’d want to swallow, myself, but then I wouldn’t have eaten the necklace, either. (I am totally leaving out the tantrums that resulted from her eating the necklace, btw).
So I called the vet. Who said, feed her a tablespoonful of hydrogen peroxide. I racked the tiny organ some more–we must have that somewhere, right?–with vague thoughts of the string dissolving, and finally said, WHY?
To make her throw up.
OH, I said, relieved. Why didn’t you say so? That I can do.
And I hung up, grabbed the dog and a shot glass full of table shot, and headed out into the snow. Two minutes to barf time, baby. My dogs have eaten a lot of bad stuff over the years. I can make them barf with the best of them.
Ten minutes later I had to get a shovel and bury the necklace remnants in the snow. If you have a dog, you know why!
So at least I’m qualified to raise that puppy we’ve signed on for in June.