We woke up Saturday morning to throw up on our bedroom floor. My husband initially said to me, “The dog peed on the floor.” However, when I got up and put on my contacts, so I could actually see the floor, it was very evident to me that the mess on the floor was not pee. It was throw up. And once I realized that, I did vaguely remember hearing an animal throwing up in the middle of the night. My problem is that I never completely wake up once I am asleep. Basically, my habit is to say anything to get the person to go away and let me sleep. Which means that when my then three year old son came into my bedroom in the middle of the night telling me he was bleeding, I said, “Okay, get your pillow and get in bed with me.” My husband was out of town and it wasn’t until I woke up the next morning that I remembered something vaguely about blood. It turned out to be a bloody nose but the whole incident resulted in the kids being taught at a very young age:
“And who do you go to in the middle of the night when you are sick or there is an emergency?”
“Daddy” they both answer. “Because mommy only pretends to wake up.”
Not my proudest parenting moment. So it really wasn’t all that inconceivable to understand that while the puking sound made its way into my dream, I didn’t actually wake up.
Anyway, as I cleaned up the first mess, I looked over and saw a second mess. After cleaning that one up, I went into the closet to get clothes and discovered the third little pile of throw up. But this one was upsetting because when I cleaned it up, it clearly contained blood. A lot of blood. At this point I became very concerned about the health of our dog. Except was it? We had left our bedroom door open all night and it wasn’t inconceivable that perhaps the cat had also been in our bedroom. I called our vet who said it would be a good idea to bring the animals in and since we were not 100% sure which animal had the problem, it was best to bring them both in. Unfortunately (or fortunately, perhaps) I had to work on Saturday so the task of taking the animals to the vet fell upon my husband. Who promptly woke up our 17 year old son and asked him to go with him to assist in the endeavor. (Okay, so he was really told to “get his ass up and help.”)
Now, here is what happens when we take our dog and cat to the vet. Boca is pretty laid back and he does know that he is not going to like what is going to happen to him when he is put inside the animal carrier, but will cooperate and then immediately start to make these very loud annoying meowing noises indicating his unhappiness and discomfort.
Casey gets excited just hearing the phrase “Wanna Go?” He will immediately run to the front door, quivering from top to bottom with his little stubby tail wagging a mile a minute. And then when you bring out his harness and leash He. Is. Beside. Himself.
Once at the vet’s office the same thing always happens. Boca is removed from his carrier along with a remark from the vet staff along the lines of: “Wow! That’s a big cat!” who by this time is shedding like crazy. The vet takes his temperature by sticking a thermometer up you know where. Boca is as calm as can be with an expression stating, “Just get this over with and get me back home, okay?” He is fine. He is also 17 pounds. That’s a big cat. Finding out he is okay, the door to the carrier is opened and Boca quickly slinks back inside ready to leave.
Casey’s turn. I believe Casey has had his temperature taken maybe twice his whole 8 years of living. He is one highly vocal dog clearly stating:
- I am way too cute to deserve this,
- You have got to be kidding me,
- You are NOT going to do this to me, and
- You are going to stick that thing WHERE?
Very few animal doctors have been able to get past the insistent howling and snapping that he does. It took two staff members to hold him down long enough to get his temperature. And he had a fever. The vet thinks he got some kind of bacteria on his feet, licked them (which he does when he comes inside with wet feet following his long morning romp outside) and got sick. So Casey got a shot and then some antibiotics. Our vet asked if we wanted pills or liquid. We immediately said pills. We already know the only way to get Casey to eat pills is to trick him into eating them with cookie dough. Chocolate chip cookie dough. And even then it may take 2-3 times before the pill doesn’t end up on the floor with the cookie dough gone.
So both pets are none the worse for wear. My husband said he is NEVER going to do that again. My son was pissed that he refused to go through a drive through to get something to eat with the animals in the car. But most importantly, I think we owe Boca a huge apology.