My neighbor and good friend was going out of town for the holidays to visit with her family in the frozen tundra of New Jersey. She and I both hate boarding our animals and as I was staying home for the holidays I told her not to worry, former vet-tech Moi would be more than happy to take care of her critters while she was away. “Neighbor Lady” has two dogs, Spencer the terrier mix and Lyrica the Hurricane Katrina rescued Doberman, two Rosey Bourkes (Australian Parakeets), a yellow canary, and a fantail goldfish. Not much of a hassle as she is literally right next door.
Unless you count in the fact that the Doberman is crated all day because the small dog is very old and vulnerable and I am half Jewish……or should be due to the size of my guilt gene. This means for me to feel like Lyrica (the Dobie) is getting enough exercise and love I need to let her out to run and chase squirrels at least four to five times a day.
Lyrica has a nervous stomach.
Lyrica was missing her mommy.
Lyrica was pooping or vomiting in her crate four to five times a day.
Queen Goob was not happy.
Queen Goob was doing laundry four to five times a day and this is NOT one of her favorite chores.
But Lyrica is a most fabulous dog so I lovingly cleaned up her messes of vomit and poo, let her out into the yard to chase squirrels, so all was happy and good in my favorite Doberman’s world.
Until, that is, the day her mommy was due to come home. That morning I walked next door in my big fluffy bathrobe with my first cup o’joe of the day and the first book in the Kylar Stern trilogy. I walk through the house and as I drew close to the room in which Lyrica is kenneled the stench of poo got stronger and stronger. Great, more poo to shovel and clean up and I haven’t even finished my first cup of coffee. I switch on the light as the sun has not yet risen and there in the bottom of the kennel I see a buckle and some dog tags. But wait.....where was the collar??? There wasn’t a collar on the floor of the kennel; oh no, Lyrica had somehow removed her nylon collar and eaten every – single – little – tiny – thread possible. Nothing but buckle and tags.
Unless you count in the fact that the Doberman is crated all day because the small dog is very old and vulnerable and I am half Jewish……or should be due to the size of my guilt gene. This means for me to feel like Lyrica (the Dobie) is getting enough exercise and love I need to let her out to run and chase squirrels at least four to five times a day.
Lyrica has a nervous stomach.
Lyrica was missing her mommy.
Lyrica was pooping or vomiting in her crate four to five times a day.
Queen Goob was not happy.
Queen Goob was doing laundry four to five times a day and this is NOT one of her favorite chores.
But Lyrica is a most fabulous dog so I lovingly cleaned up her messes of vomit and poo, let her out into the yard to chase squirrels, so all was happy and good in my favorite Doberman’s world.
Until, that is, the day her mommy was due to come home. That morning I walked next door in my big fluffy bathrobe with my first cup o’joe of the day and the first book in the Kylar Stern trilogy. I walk through the house and as I drew close to the room in which Lyrica is kenneled the stench of poo got stronger and stronger. Great, more poo to shovel and clean up and I haven’t even finished my first cup of coffee. I switch on the light as the sun has not yet risen and there in the bottom of the kennel I see a buckle and some dog tags. But wait.....where was the collar??? There wasn’t a collar on the floor of the kennel; oh no, Lyrica had somehow removed her nylon collar and eaten every – single – little – tiny – thread possible. Nothing but buckle and tags.
And to top of an already fabulous morning there is shit EVERYWHERE. It’s coating the kennel floor, the kennel wire bars, the lamb’s wool pad she sleeps on. It’s coating the walls, the floor surrounding the kennel, and the TV and wires running along side of the kennel as well. If there was a square inch devoid of poo in the surround vicinity I didn’t see it and believe you me I looked.
So here I am, cup of coffee in hand, poo flung from one side of the room to the other, and a dog that has eaten her collar. And then it hits me…..there is not one piece of that collar pooped out anywhere in all the sludge that is spattered from floor to ceiling.
So here I am, cup of coffee in hand, poo flung from one side of the room to the other, and a dog that has eaten her collar. And then it hits me…..there is not one piece of that collar pooped out anywhere in all the sludge that is spattered from floor to ceiling.
Crap! Shit! And every other profane word I can think of that involves excrement. What if the collar gets blocked in the dog’s intestines, all her food and poop get backed up in her system AND SHE DIES!!!
ON MY SHIFT!!!
CRAP!!! SHIT!!! My neighbor was due home THAT DAY!
Boy can I tell you I was no longer worried about getting poop stains on my fluffy white bathrobe from that moment on.
Long story short……okay not so short story long……or long story even longer because I don’t know how to explain I’m cutting this long story short…..the dog lived to eventually poop out her fabulous brand new holiday collar and my neighbor wasn’t even upset.
She says that pay backs are hell. This was payback for the time she watched Cooper and when she went to let him out there was a string hanging from his mouth and when she went to remove it from his teeth it kept coming and coming and coming and coming until a HUGE wad of yard was yanked from his throat reeking of stomach acid juice.
Hmmm, maybe she's right, maybe paybacks ARE a bitch!
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