Ando’s Note: Blogger still will not let me post images. Is anyone else having this problem?
You may recall a post on this very blog a few months ago about a little rat problem we were having. You may also recall a post about our Houdini of a dog, Jackson. Well, the rats are no longer a problem, and for a little bit we weren’t sure if we’d have to worry about Jackson escaping anymore.
Last night Jennifer and I were checking out the latest real estate offerings in southern Indiana and Jackson was upstairs jumping up on the couch, barking at the trees blowing in the breeze, and being generally obnoxious. Jen decided he might be better off downstairs with us. Our office/laundry room is connected to our garage and the door had been left open and Jackson wandered in. Suddenly I realized that I had placed a couple of rat poison traps in the garage and jumped up to get Jackson out of there before he discovered them. Too late. As I reached the garage door I heard him poking at one of the bait traps that was under a workbench. I yelled for him to come, but when he did he had the entire bait box firmly in his jaws. Jackson is not a very big dog, but he has jaws of steel. I knew there was no way I could pry it out of his mouth, at least not without spilling a 1/4 box of rat poison down his gullet. This is not an uncommon game. He likes to grab things he knows he’s not supposed to have and then hold them hostage until we either ignore him and it isn’t fun anymore, I assault him with a barrage of spray bottle fire, or we trade him for a treat. I was all for trading for the treat in this case. I held onto the box so he wouldn’t take off and Jen ran to get the treats. The trade was carried out succesfully, but we weren’t sure if he had actually ingested any of the poison. I didn’t think he had but we decided to call the pet emergency room anyway and they said we should bring him so they could make him throw up. So off to Pet Care we went.
Walking into the lobby, they must have thought we were white trash fresh from the trailer park (no offense to J Crew and Ping). We were both dressed in shorts, t-shirts, and flip-flops, and not the stylish kind that all the kids are wearing these days. My Heavenly Hamburger shirt had a big stain on the front, I had about six days of growth on my face, and am in desperate need of a haircut. If you see my neck from behind you’ll think you bumped into the Wolfman. Jen looked as radiant as ever…at least as much as a trailer park babe can. We told the receptionist the problem and she took the leash and tried to get him to step up on the scale to be weighed. Jackson does not like to go to the vet. He knows that when he goes there, they’re going to poke him, and stick things in bad places, and it is going to be an all-in-all unpleasent experience. His response to this is to make everyone else’s experience equally unpleasent. He refused to get on the scale and had to literally be dragged onto it. As she was going down the hallway we warned the nurse that he dosen’t always care for strangers and he may try to bite off her face.
Then we waited. Animal doctors offices are not much different than people doctors offices, except they’re patients have two extra legs in most cases. After a few minutes in the lobby the receptionist told us we could go into the exam room and the doctor would be in shortly. Message decoded: go into this room that has no magazines to read and wait another 20 to 30 minutes. At least in this office we didn’t have to wear a paper nightgown. Finally, the vet came in and gave us the scoop: no rat poison found. Huzzah! She did say that he was being a little difficult. He was growling and acting rude, so they muzzeled him. Somehow in the process he flipped out and managed to wiggle out of both the muzzle and his gentle leader head collar and was thrashing about the exam room with nothiing to restrain him. If I believed in reincarnation, I’d swear our dog actually is Houdini. I had this cartoon mental image of him backed up in a corner, hairs on his back bristling, bearing his teeth and drooling while, five or six vet staff surround and try to subdue him. I wish I was an artist so I could draw you the picture. It’s pretty funny. Finally they mangaed to get the muzzle back on. They didn’t tell us how. Maybe they had the hunter from Jurassic Park come in and blast him with a dinosaur tranqualizer. “Clever, girl.” Once they got the muzzle on him they had to give him two of the shots to make him throw up. Apparently one is normally all that is required, but his adrenaline was pumping so much, the first one just mildly sedated him.
When the nurse brought him back in, he looked a little beaten down. His ears were back, his head was lowered and he still had some chunks on his front paws. “He wouldn’t let us clean his paws.”, she said. He also stunk to high-heaven. He smelled like he had been swimming in a vat of fish food. We walked back to the lobby paid our $126 and took the boy home to have a bath.
Not the way we anticipated spending the waning hours of our weekend, but then that’s Jackson. We’re never quite sure what to expect next.