Dog Days Are Over

This little joker of a pup has been causing a LOT of trouble lately. What’s started out as general mischief has become death-defying. Not once, but twice. Plus another instance of helplessness-caused-by-mischief thrown in.

In his senior years, Boomer has developed a penchant for trash diving. We have no idea why or where it came from but it drives my parents crazy. His favorite trash cans are the kitchen (obvi – hooray for potential snacks!) and the bathroom, which I assume is due to the fact that he can just reach his little head over the edge of the bathroom trashcans, whereas with the kitchen, he not only has to wrestle his way into the cabinet where the trash can is kept, but he also then has to find a way to knock it over once he’s in the cabinet. He’s too little to be able to get into it otherwise. When you’re only about 9” tall on all fours, these are the trials and tribulations you have to deal with. Anyway, Boomer LOOOOOVES tissues, toilet paper, and paper towels – basically anything that can easily be shredded with paws and a snout, so that adds to the fascination of the bathroom trash cans. It’s gross. We don’t understand it.

Anyway, my mom brought home take-out from La Madeleine one day a couple of weeks ago and after she ate her lunch, she decided to use the plastic sack to collect the recyclables from my parents’ office. She filled up the sack later that night and then placed it by the back door so Dad could take it to the recycling bin. Boomer eyed that bag all afternoon, just waiting for the moment when he was left unattended to strike. The moment came around 10 p.m. that night after my dad went to bed and my mom went upstairs to check her email. Mom was happily typing away when she heard Boomer’s very distinct “Excuse me, I need to use the restroom; please open the back door!” bark (just imagine a low, sharp, short bark). He does have an urgent bathroom bark, and that’s not what he did, so Mom figured he’d be okay until she finished whatever it was she was doing on the computer. A few minutes went by and Boomie barked again, so Mom finished up what she was doing and was shutting down the computer. And then she heard panicked whining, so she quickly ran down the stairs to find out what was going on. She found him sitting amidst a floor full of discarded papers with his head stuck through the built-in handles to the La Madeleine bag and the bag twisted around his neck. There were still a few pieces of paper in the bag, so once the bag got twisted, he couldn’t get it untwisted and get out because of how tall the bag was; his little legs don’t give him enough clearance off the ground. Mom came to the rescue and managed to get the bag untangled from his neck, so no puppy strangulation occurred.

But then, a day or two later, Mom headed out to volunteer, leaving the boys (Boomer and my dad) at home alone. Boomer typically has free run of the kitchen, den, breakfast room (which are actually all connected in an open floor plan), and my parents’ bedroom. Usually Boomer prefers to be around my parents, but occasionally he likes to retire under their bed, particularly when he’s feeling naughty and/or mischievous, but sometimes just when he wants to take an afternoon nap. Usually my parents are good about keeping the doors to their bathroom closed, but sometimes Boomer decides to bust through them (they’re small double doors that you can push open, rather than turning handles). On this particular day, one of my parents forgot to close the bathroom doors, so when my dad wasn’t looking, Boomer casually sauntered into the bathroom and started nosing around. To Boomer’s delight, the trash hadn’t been emptied in a couple of days, so a certain pup had a hay day digging through the contents. Until he found a Q-Tip. We don’t know how it happened – if he was holding it in his paws while chewing on the stem or if it was much more accidental or what – but somehow he got the Q-Tip lodged in his teeth and started panicking and whimpering. I don’t know if Dad went back to the bathroom when he heard the whimpering or if Boomer walked out into the den and sheepishly whined for help, but Dad had to remove the Q-Tip for Boomer.

And finally, our little love bug got into trouble again Friday night. Dad went to bed and Mom went upstairs to use her computer, leaving Mr. Man unattended in the den. The laundry room is located off of the den and normally the door to it is closed. On Friday night, Boomer got into the laundry room and started sniffing around. Mom had a basket filled with candy left over from Christmas inside a big Sur La Table bag, which was on top of a box. Somehow, Boomer managed to eat his way through the Sur La Table bag (we assume he ate through it because Mom couldn’t find remnants of the missing portion) and then knocked the basket over. And then the fun began. In my mind, Boomer’s internal monologue was something like this: “Hmm, what’s in that bag? I can’t see. I can’t get it off the box so easily. Hmm. I’ll just nibble my way through it because something in that bag smells good, and I could stand to up my daily fiber intake. [Chewing…] SUCCESS! Hmm… that basket is tricky and still too high. I’ll pull it down and see what’s inside it. Ooooo what’s all this? My people never let me eat this stuff and it smells so good. OOOO!! Especially that big one that also smells like orange and almonds! MMMMmmmmm! This is delicious. Mom and Dad are totes missing out. I would like more of this. I will eat one of these smaller, peanut buttery-smelling ones right now and bury the rest of them in couch for later!”

Yeah. Boomer ate an entire chocolate bar and then hid five fun-size Butterfingers behind couch cushions and pillows in the den. (These are his favorite places to hide things when he can’t access my parents’ bed.) Mom came downstairs a short time after the chocolate destruction occurred and found the demolished Sur La Table bag, the once-filled candy basket in disarray, and empty chocolate bar wrapper. She woke up my dad to make sure he hadn’t eaten any of the candy (which made me laugh, because since when does Dad tear up bags and leave trash on the floor after he eats candy?). Then she realized Boomer was probably in some trouble based on the size of the big chocolate bar he ate. She called the emergency number at Boomer’s vet and talked to the nurse at the animal ER, who advised her to bring him in once Mom was able to discern how many ounces of chocolate she thought Boomer had eaten (at least 3.5 ounces). PSA: if you’re wondering how much chocolate is okay versus not okay, Boomer’s ER physician told Mom that a dog can handle about 1 ounce for every 10 pounds the dog weighs. Other toxic food: grapes, raisins, and onions, just to name a few. Therefore, 3.5+ ounces for a 14-pound dog put Boomer squarely in the danger zone. The doctors made Boomer throw up a lot to prevent the toxins in the chocolate from entering his bloodstream (the at-home way to get your dog to barf: forcing your dog to drink capfuls of hydrogen peroxide until they unswallow whatever they ate. As someone who’s had to gargle hydrogen peroxide, I can tell you your dog is safe. It just tastes like very fizzy liquid air/club soda). Apparently he not only ate the Butterfinger, but he also ate the wrapper. Sick. I mean you’d think he’d at least use restraint and NOT EAT WRAPPERS!! His heart rate was insanely high – about 250 bmp – so the next battle was getting that to come down so he wouldn’t have a heart attack. He was given meds to help lower his heart rate, put on an IV drip to help keep him hydrated, and then he also had to have a catheter inserted. Poor little guy – he wasn’t going anywhere.

The doctors decided they needed to keep him overnight so they could get his heart rate under control. Mom was told she could go home and that the hospital would contact her if they had any problems and that she could call the hospital for updates. She got home and decided to call and check on him at 1:30 a.m. before going to bed. At that point, his heart rate had come down quite a bit and he was doing well. The next day, the docs pronounced him sweet and loving and ready to go home, so Mom and Dad picked him up around 2:00. He took it easy for the rest of the weekend (except for the 5 minutes directly following the bath Mom gave him. He gets bathed in the bathtub upstairs in my old bathroom and he LOVES getting bathed, rubbed down with a towel, and then running as fast as possible out of my room, down the hall, down the stairs, and then running as many laps as possible around the dining room table. The current record number of laps stands at 18).

So yes, Boomer is a little toot. So. much. trouble. lately!! Hopefully he’s had enough for the time being and won’t try any more suicide attempts for at least a week or two.