Dog Gone It.

At about midnight last night, I heard Shelby jump into the bathtub. Knowing that Shelby is not usually a fan of baths, I stopped what I was doing, paused to listen to her little dog-nails clatter against the tub, and started to walk towards the bathroom. Then I heard vomiting. (In the past, if she starts to even gag, I always drag her into the bathroom, because cleaning the tub is so much easier than cleaning carpet. Apparently, I don’t have to drag her in there anymore.) There she was standing in the bathtub, shaking, tail between her legs, and head down.

Over the next hour, she threw up a few more times. She eventually climbed out of the tub. I followed her and watched her every move. She licked a paw. She looked for and found her stuffed Pooh Bear, who she knows as “baby”. She walked a few circles around her dog bed and pawed at the blanket, finally laying down when she had gotten it just right. Okay, all good signs. Very normal Shelby-girl behavior. I sat on the bed, still watching her. She watched me. She licked a paw again. Got up and walked in another circle. And then she vomited again.

And again.

As I was trying to clean the carpet and she was standing in the tub (by choice), I called the emergency animal clinic. That conversation, from what I can remember in between sprays of Resolve and scrubs, went something like this:

“Nashville Pet Emergency Clinic. How may I help you?”

“Hello. I am trying to decide (scrub, scrub) if I should bring my dog in tonight. She has thrown up (spray, spray) several times in the past hour and seems to be shaking (scrub, scrub) and not feeling well at all. She is just over 3-years-old (spray, spray) and has never acted like this or thrown up this much before (scrub, scrub, scrub).”

“What kind of dog is she?”

“The best kind. The Shelby-girl kind. The kind that is so smart that she gets in the bathtub to throw up.” Okay, what I really said was that she was a 55-pound lab mix (which does just not do her justice).

“How many times has she vomited?”

“Six times in the past hour.”

“Six times? Oh, yeah, that is not good. You might want to bring her in,” he says. “Did she get into anything or eat anything she shouldn’t have today?”

“No, I don’t think so.” (scrub, scrub)

“Does she have toys? Could she have chewed up or eaten part of a toy?”

“No,” I said. If only he knew that Pooh was not just a “toy” but a “baby” that she grooms, carries out to the car, and snuggles with at night. And, yes, while Pooh is missing his ears due to her incessant licking, Shelby is a good mom. She would not eat her “baby.”

“Yeah, you might want to bring her in to see us. I mean it could just be an upset stomach but it could also be something more serious that would be life threatening. We just don’t know.”

Helpful.

“Okay, I will see you soon,” I sigh, as I am looking at Shelby hiding behind the shower curtain.

“Great. We will see you soon. And just so you are aware, there will be a basic visitation fee of $95.00. Any other treatment or service will be discussed and added on from there. But we can talk about all that when you get here and we assess her. We’ll take good care of her.”

(You better give her a damn dog massage and some puppy-acupuncture for $95.00.)

On the way to the clinic (which happens to be on the complete opposite side of town from where I live), Shelby threw up twice in the car. At this point, there wasn’t much to throw up. But what little there was landed on the shifting gear, floor mat, and middle console. (Shelby says sorry, Amber.) Thank goodness for those left-over fast-food napkins that I stash in the glove box all the time.

Shelby does not like visits to the vet. She likes to be nosey and smell everything. She loves and usually remembers where they keep their jars of treats. And she is usually fine with the staff. Until they touch her. Then she goes Kujo. She cries, yelps, growls, hides, and eventually gets muzzled. The only thing different about last night is that you can’t really muzzle a dog that is vomiting – creates a bit of a choking hazard. As I am laying on her on the floor to restrain and calm her on one end while they take her temperature from the other, the vet asks me all the same questions about what she has eaten, chewed on, or gotten into. I answer the same – I don’t know of anything. They want to do x-rays “just to be sure” she doesn’t have a piece of rawhide or other obstruction in her intestine. And they can do that for me “real quick” for about $332.00 out the door. Unless, of course, she needs surgery to remove an obstruction. I tell them I can’t afford that. The vet says that she understands, that, if needed, the surgery would be “more affordable” to complete through our normal vet and could wait until they open in the morning. I tell her I meant I couldn’t afford the x-ray. She says, “Oh, okay.” Some IV fluids, nausea medicine, and $190 later, we leave with the advice to check in with her regular vet in the morning and a promise to bring her back in should she start throwing up again.

As we are checking out, the vet assistant says that Shelby weighed more than they thought she would from looking at her. “She sure is stout,” he says.

Is that what they are calling it now? Stout, really?

“Yeah, she is on weight-control food and I take her for two walks a day so I don’t know what else to do really,” I say. Polite smile.

“I wouldn’t worry. She isn’t obsese. She just weighs more than you would think. Like some people. She’s stout.”

Then, as I watch Shelby sniff the counter in hopes of dog treats, I remember that people always say that pets take on the personality and sometimes even the physical look of their owners. And I also remember that Shelby’s regular vet once wrote in her file that she was “food motivated.” But she is pretty darn cute, so there might be some truth in all that.

Our follow-up appointment at the vet is not until 4:00 this afternoon but I “shouldn’t leave her unattended’ until then just to watch for any changes in her behavior or condition. So, I took a sick-day and am sitting here on the couch with the infamous Shelby-girl. She is lazy, sleepy, and a little "stout" – all very normal. Let’s hope the vet thinks so too.