Friday, February 27, 2015

Pick Your Poison {Control}

Despite taking an extensive hiatus since my last post, I can assure you that things in the Berry-Perin house have not slowed in the least. Actually, we've ramped up the crazy by adding another fur baby to our family. Havoc is aptly named; since his adoption at the end of January, I've seen the wee hours of morning more than I did during my 20s... minus the sequins, stilettos, and {drink} specials.

In addition to upending my sleep schedule and destroying our carpets, Havoc has also thrust Jolene into the role of big sister. Jolene has long wanted a sibling {look forward to an upcoming blog that share insight into how Havoc became a Berry-Perin}; however, she has truly been the epitome of the eldest child. She finds fault in many of Havoc's less than stellar mannerisms and continually reminds him of her superiority by perching regally on EVERY piece of furniture we own. However, last week Jolene had her "Marsha, Marsha, Marsha" moment and shouldered her way back into the spotlight.

With John gone to the next football post, I'm serving as a single pup parent 90% of the time. After the first week of fast gulp food meals, I finally felt comfortable to cook myself a meal. Jolene had Havoc entertained and I successfully cooked up some ground turkey for spaghetti. Just as I was congratulating myself with a goat cheese garnish and a glass of white wine, I noticed Havoc giving the "look". This wild eye is one of his tells that perhaps, he may have to "go hurry". Thinking back on the number of times I'd "Nature's Miracle"'d the carpets that day, I quickly scooped him up to sprint downstairs into the frigid night air. I didn't think I had anything to worry about - Jolene was always able to handle herself in a responsible manner for a few moments unattended. While Havoc relieved himself, I savored the thought of the drama free dinner awaiting me upstairs...

Except that the drama was about to be cranked up to telenovela status. Upon re-entering the home, I became instantly suspicious. Jolene had started as the door cracked open and threw herself into her crate. There were bits of plastic littering the kitchen floor and the smell of spoiled meat wafted to meet me. My stomach immediately dropped, and I magically morphed into SVU's own Olivia Benson, sussing my way to some answers.

Earlier in the evening, I had taken the meat container from dinner and some old lunch meat and secured them in a plastic bag for removal from the apartment. This would keep the dogs from whining and the apartment from smelling like anything other than puppy breath and Febreze. I'd planned on discarding the trash when I next took Havoc out that night. However, due to our abrupt departure, I'd forgotten the trash on the {otherwise clean and empty} counter.

A quick and thorough search of the premises proved that Jolene was indeed the sole perpetrator in stealing this contraband and wolfing down the rancid meat, along with {I noted to my INTENSE chagrin} the sponge that lays beneath meat in its plastic packaging. So I did what any adult woman living alone with two children under the age of 2 would do: I called my Mom. When that didn't work, I called my husband. And when that {surprisingly?!} came up empty, I text my dog trainer. My last life line spent with no hard and fast answers, I reached the final possibility - one that, since our embarrassing visit there last summer, I was most hesitant to utilize... The Ohio State Emergency Veterinary Hospital.

My fear and hysteria bubbled over as the receptionist asked me how she could help. The vet tech fell silent upon hearing that Jojo had scarfed a combination of meat and plastic that could hold any number of bacteria and other implications. NOTHING and NO ONE were helping, and my Tiger Mother instinct finally kicked in to hyper drive.

"Then who do I call?! And what do I do?!"  

I raged like Hurricane Katrina in her first hours ashore in Louisiana. I refused to wait and see as so many had suggested. There was NO WAY that my baby was going to sit through the night with plastic and raw poultry in her stomach. She had food allergies for Pete's sake! The vet tech finally yielded something valuable and suggested calling the Animal Poison Control hotline {no, I'm not making this up - it exists}. I jumped at the suggestion, slammed down the phone, and dialed my only hope at deliverance and good health. 

As I waited for the line to connect, I started filling Jolene's water bowl with a very exact ratio of hydrogen peroxide. Thank Heaven for the National K9 Puppy Preschool presentation on Dog First Aid during Jolene's star pupil turn in the class. I remembered our fabulous trainer Erica reminding us all solemnly that hydrogen peroxide could immediately cause a dog to vomit if necessary. Jolene helpfully lapped up the mixture and I fielded questions from the APC hotline operator while covering my kitchen floor in plastic trash bags. 

While explaining for the tenth time the contents of Jolene's stomach, my fur baby started to dry heave. Within minutes I was wrist deep in rancid turkey, feverishly searching for the sponge. The exultation in my voice shocked the APC's faceless figurehead as I crowed, 

"Nevermind. It's all here. She's vomited and it's all here!"

In the aftermath, I sat in my freshly cleaned kitchen stroking Jolene as she laid next to me, lapping small amounts of water to cleanse her palate. I called everyone whom I'd initially alerted and proudly laid out my emergency parent savvy. The post-traumatic experience bliss didn't last long though. As I pat myself on the back once more, I happened to look in Havoc's crate. He'd been so quiet and angelic during this entire episode. It was only then that I realized that he was sitting in a pool of puppy pee. Wagging his tail. 

Cry "HAVOC" and let slip the dogs of war... Yes, when we picked out this pup to match his equally entertaining sis, we truly picked our poison.

XO, 

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