She welcomed us into her world with vomit. She tested us with puke.
And now our adorable bundle of joy is preparing us for parenthood. (Before I go any further... and anger any parents... I will readily admit that owning a dog is much, much harder than owning a kid. I mean, easier! It's much easier than owning a kid, although it sometimes feels harder. But I understand that you can't pen a kid into the kitchen while you go to work, so that probably makes it tough.)
Anyway, I arrived home after work yesterday to find our 15-pound Peekapoo had thrown up on the kitchen floor six times (yay for easy-to-wipe vinyl floors, that's all I have to say). Then she proceeded to puke seven more times until there was nothing to come up but blood.
A harried trip to the vet later, we found out she had most likely eaten part of a chicken bone, which was not blocking anything, but had upset her stomach. The advice from the vet was some medicine to calm her stomach, some under-the-skin fluids and plenty of rest. My favorite part (and the only funny part of the entire day) was the fluids they injected under her skin, which gave her a temporary hump on her back until they were absorbed.
The Pretend Husband's reaction was, "You broke my dog!" and we laughed afterward about how she wasn't all that sick when we brought her into the vet's office, but was looking like the Hunchback of Notre Dame when we brought her out.
All in all, it seems like the having to drop everything, rushing to the doctor while fearful of what they would find and nursing the little one back to health (Molly had chicken and rice for lunch while all I had was pasta!) was good practice for someday becoming parents. Although I'm assuming parenting lacks the last part of the night... the one where Molly woke up at 2 a.m. and crawled onto the PH's chest before her grand finale vomit. But I could be wrong about that.
So many books...
2 years ago