That morning I took Storm out back to get a stool sample. The poop that emerged got stuck leaving Storm tearing around the yard trying to shake it loose, the clump smacking against his hind legs and tail making an awful mess. I ran inside to get gloves, grabbed his collar and gently pulled on the poop. A clump about two feet long came sliding out like on those National Geographic calving videos and I stood there horrified that he'd pooped out his intestines.
Between sobs, I cleaned us both up, put the whole clump in a plastic bag, grabbed a leash, and headed for the car, expecting the worst.
The waiting room was filled. I left the bag with the receptionist and we worked our way to a bench in the corner. At least there was the distraction of chatter about the dogs, cats and one goat there with ailments or injuries or needing a checkup.
Then the vet tech called out, "Skye? Are you missing a rug or a really long stuffed toy?"
It turned out that all my rugs were present and accounted for but, blood work, x-rays, a ravenous but exhausted dog and $206 later, an inventory count back home noted a missing two-foot-long furry.
It could have been worse. Even if he'd made it through a second such surgery (a couple of years ago he was cut open from stomach to butt to recover a very long knotted up strand of used gauze he'd swiped from the garbage), it would have cost me a (so to speak) shitload of money if he hadn't pooped it out in the nick of time.
Not quite funny yet, the blood work came back that his body isn't absorbing protein. A case of special canned food, liquid triglycerides, Prednizone and a vet check in two weeks, the jury's still out.
The poor receptionist whose job was to sort through the two-foot-long poop cheerfully told me about her own nut job dog. She said he ate a basketball but nobody knew for sure (as long as he kept eating they weren't going to cut him open) while he pooped and spit up pieces of rubber until one big piece came out with the word SPAULDING printed across it.
These "kids" as I call them really know how to pull our heartstrings or none of us would be pulling poop out of their butts or cleaning up after they puked all over the Oriental rug just back from the cleaners, again.
My big kids, two Siberian Huskies and six German Shepherds I've had over the years, are giving way to smaller ones, my daughter's introduction of the Japanese Shiba Inu that looks like a fox or a German Shepherd pup that never grows up. I like that they can be bathed in the sink and don't take up the whole bed. But they're an even more primitive breed than Huskies and very pack oriented. Instead of pulling poop, I'm pulling them off each other. Good thing they have curled tails for handles.
I've been fostering Shibas for the past year and adopted two of the fosters from the NYC Shiba Rescue, http://nycshibarescue.org/ These two are also in The Usual Suspects lineup, but I've been feeling a bit misty-eyed today and wanted to get this on the blog.
My latest addition, Dylan.
And the joyfulness of two buddies sharing some quality time:
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