I got back in last night from my run to find Mr W sitting on the floor, with Max right in front of him.
At first, I thought, "How cute" and then "how unusual" as Mr W isn't all warm and fuzzy when it comes to our pets. Then I noticed some paper towels on the floor in front of the pup, and a pile of crumpled up ones next to Mr W. Another glance at the pup was alarming--he looked pathetic.
"He's been puking for 20 minutes," Mr W informed me, "and I'm just trying to keep him in one spot to prevent him from spewing all over the house."
Great. I know nothing about this. And it's late. My vet is closed. Consult the book. No help. So I'm thinking out loud, and ask Mr W his opinion, then get irritated with him when he says "but it's your dog".
[You ever have those moments (or days) when your spouse irritates you for no other reason than they irritate you? He's irritating me. And I'm trying to ignore it, but grrrr.]
At any rate, I wound up taking Max to the doggie ER at my vet's suggestion/request (she was on call when I left a message for the office). I was almost out to the main road when he um, had an ugly bowel movement in my lap. While I was driving. It's a good thing that with all these children, this didn't even faze me--much. Ahem.
At the ER, he had a parvo test, which was negative, then they gave him a shot for his nausea and some fluids. Fabulous.
I got him home, and he slept pretty much all night, which was surprising. He hasn't slept well at night since we brought him home. His bleary-eyed owner hasn't slept much either! I'd chalked it up to new house jitters, and the excitement of being poked and prodded by the kids while narrowly dodging a beating from my black cat.
This morning, I woke up to find him perkier. I was hopeful that he felt better. Scooping him up, I give him a cuddle, only to put him right back down again as he was fragrant with eau-de-drunken-frat-boy (after an all night kegger). Yikes! He got a bath, of course...
Imagine the assault on my nostrils when I went to take the boys to school and discovered I missed a spot when I cleaned up the van after last night's episode. I scrubbed away again, and still am getting a whiff of phantom stench with a hint of lavender. I hope it's phantom, I mean, I don't think I missed anywhere else, and that it's just burned into my brain.
My vets' office called this morning and asked me to bring him in for a recheck. "He's still dehydrated," my vet says. "Feel his gums." His gums felt as dry as the back of my hand. OMG. He's really sick, poor little guy. She went on to say that she wanted to keep him overnight and pump him full of fluids to rehydrate him. She's gonna do some lab work and xray his belly in the morning, b/c labs are known for swallowing and chewing on things they aren't supposed to. (Now I feel I wasn't vigilant enough, and he's swallowed something I missed. Mommy guilt--extended to include the pets.)
I explain to Audrey that he has to stay, and she's ok with it. Cool. I'm crossing my fingers at this point, because she seems to get it...
However, when we leave, she bursts into full-on crying "My puppy! My Max, he's coming! I want my puppy!" with such feeling, I'm almost in tears myself.
"Oh, sweetie, he'll be okay," I say reassuringly, for her as much as for me.
And she cried all the way home....
Right about now, I'm feeling pretty fragile myself.
[P.S. Mr W was concerned last night even if he didn't come forth with his opinion. And today, he's worried too, and wondering what's up just like I am. He's just one of those guys that remains annoyingly neutral at times.]