So it was Christmas Eve morning. Poppy woke up, stood up and barfed. And there were all sorts of unmentionables in that there barf. So I figured she would be feeling much better after that barf. It’s hard to digest trash, after all.
After some time and some negotiation, she ate her breakfast.
Then I took her for a nice long walk, and when she did her business, I noticed that there were all sorts of things in her doody. I could specifically make out at least three small legos. I briefly considered recovering the legos because honestly, I can’t stand the thought of having an incomplete set, but I decided that was just plain gross.
Then Poppy barfed up all her breakfast. And she did not look good, at all.
Do you know what you have to do when your dog is very sick on Christmas Eve? That’s right. You have to go to the Emergency Vet place (the super-fancy-all-sorts-of technology vet place that is really, really expensive, but really your only choice). I have been there only once, with my old buddy Coco. He never came home.
They ran tests with their fancy stuff.
She was not in good shape was the diagnosis.
I told them all of the stuff that had come out of either end of her. It was kind of funny going down the list, but not really, I guess.
I went home, and waited for them to call me with some news.
As it turns out, she had a severe infection. She was a very sick little dog. She suffers from “dietary indiscretion.” (As do I, only I limit my indiscretions to the edible types).
She came home late on Christmas night. And she seemed just like her old self. She unfortunately learned absolutely nothing from the event. Today I found her with a dime-sized plastic googly eye, and a small clam shell, the size of a quarter.
Right now, she’s sitting over there, on the back of the couch like a cat, staring out the window at the falling snow. She looks for squirrels, and deer, and any kids that could be running around our back yard. And if she finds any she barks like crazy.
It’s hard to imagine this house without her now.