I went to get my dogs from daycare yesterday, as I had planted them there since the weekend so I could jaunt off to the beach like a carefree single mom.
Actually, some of my friends are single moms of, you know, actual humans, and they are rarely carefree. So I went to the beach like a carefree owner of dogs, thinking they'd be happy and entertained at daycare.
They emerged from the playroom as they always do, hysterical and overwrought, and we got in the car as we always do, Edsel in the back seat because he's beta dog, Tallulah in the front because she is in charge of all of us. As soon as daycare is out of sight, Talu always sighs and puts her head on my lap. Which makes it easy to shift.
But then? A couple hours after we were home? The Edsel, there? He took to barfin'.
I mean, it wasn't just a one-time-only deal. He was bringing up the past. He was showing me stuff he ate in Ancient Rome. It was ludicrous. I had to take the sisal rug outside and hose it off. I used up all the paper towels. I Sharked my floor. Which turned out to be useless, as you will soon see.
I was chatting with The Fireman, telling him Edsel had been sick. The Fireman has a Lab, because he is manly that way. "Poor dog," he said, not seeming too concerned.
Right then poor Edsel hurled again. "He's foaming at the mouth," I wrote.
"Get that dog some medical attention," said The Fireman. I figured he'd dashed to plenty a dog-foaming-after-barfing rescue and knew what he was talking about.
So poor Edsel and I went to the emergency vet, and I knew he was really sick because he (a) didn't care when I got his leash and (b) didn't care when we saw a bunny in the field next to the emergency vet.
Naturally, I knew the receptionist. "I know you!" she chirped, all redheaded and 22. (Yes, Marvin, she's at the emergency vet on Battleground. I think she always works nights.) (Marvin likes him a redhead.) Turns out she used to work at my regular vet, plus she had been the receptionist on duty when Henry was hurt after the Rally to Restore Sanity last fall. Remember that? When I took the train home and Marvin had waited till I got home to worry about the part where Henry's arm was swollen 80 times its normal size? (You could have met the redhead THEN, Marvin.)
Edsel crammed his head behind my knee while the vet took our info. "I'm gonna take Edsel back and run tests," she said, reaching for his leash. Edsel licked her. "It's okay if you kiss me after you puked. Part of my job."
Edsel looked longingly at me while they led him back, and I went to the lobby and chatted with a delightful gay man who had a Jack Russel/Chihuahua mix that I am sort of shocked to tell you was actually adorable once she emerged.
The point is, they decided Edsel had stress colitis from being at dog daycare. Who is the worst worst worst mom ever? The vet said, "We can see he's clearly a mama's boy" (Edsel was back with me and standing behind my knee again). "Some dogs just get stressed out even if they're playing with other dogs all day. They just wanna be with their people."
They gave him fluids and an antinausea shot and told me I could either cook chicken and rice for him for three days or buy bland food from them (which do you think I did?) and $8583829400 later we left. I made a vow to NEVER go anywhere without Edsel ever again. Ever. I don't care if my mother's evil dog EATS Edsel, he's coming with me from now on.
(I emailed Daniel Boone about the whole evening, because it's important I keep up the 93949230 emails to Daniel Boone at all times, and he wrote back and then wrote a P.S. "And Edsel, you don't look at all gay in your scarf.")
By the way, I was reviewing the instructions on how to give him his probiotic and bland food and so forth and in his medical stuff it read, "Teeth: Adult white clean teeth. Underbite." Hello, understatement. It'd be like Kim Kardashian's chart: Adult olive clean butt. Pronounced.
So we went to bed and Edsel got all up on me to cuddle, when
In the middle of the night? TALLULAH started barfing. Oh, she barfed everywhere. She barfed in the dining room. In the back room–twice. In the hall–also twice. On the bedspread. It was a relaxing evening.
So I gave them both the bland food today and I have no clue what is up with them. Could they BOTH have stress colitis from dog daycare? Who feels unbelievably guilty for going to the beach and abandoning her dogs?