What a Trip
We arrived back home late on Monday afternoon, did the usual unpacking and clothes washing jobs, checked up on Molly, the horses, cats and chickens (all well) and were then taken out to dinner by Granny (thanks Granny!).
When we got back, Cookie was in a big hurry to get out, so I dropped my bag in the back kitchen, where the dogs sleep, clipped on her lead, took her straight out and thought no more about my bag.
The following morning, the LSH was first up and took the dogs out. I was up a short while later, and started having my breakfast. After a few minutes, I became aware of some noise from the back kitchen – something plastic being rattled and chewed, presumably by Cookie.
“What on earth does she have” I wondered and for a moment I nearly ignored the noise, but something made me get up and check.
Cookie was in the dog bed, playing with something small and white… a pill bottle! Shit, where the hell did she get that? I picked it up – it was Cinnamon’s heart medication, but completely empty. Glancing around the room, I saw my bag lying in the middle of the floor, open, with a few bits and pieces lying around it (LSH later confirmed that it hadn’t been there when he took the dogs out, so it had only just happened). Cookie had opened the zip, taken out a few playthings, including the bottle of Vetmedin, opened the childproof (but clearly not dogproof) bottle top and scoffed the contents. I knew for sure how many had been in it – I’d bought the 60-tablet pack in France seven days previously, fourteen tables had been given to Cinny, so Cookie had probably eaten 46 tablets. Not good at all.
I rang Dave-the-Vet. He sounded groggy.
“Dave, Cookie’s eaten all of Cinnamon’s heart tablets.”
“Right… Cookie has eaten all of Cinnamon’s heart tablets.” Pause. “And you’re in France.”
(No, Dave, I don’t expect you to fly out to treat my dog…. No, Martine, don’t be a smartass, this is serious….)
“No, we’re back since yesterday” was a much more sensible response, and elicited a rapid “I’ll see you at the clinic in ten minutes.”
As I got Cookie’s leash, Cinnamon caught my eye, and I thought, well, there’s no harm in taking her along as well, there’s a chance she may have eaten some too.
As soon as I got to the clinic, Dave gave Cookie an injection. “This is pretty instantaneous,” he said, and told me to take her outside and walk around. We waited… and waited… and waited, until he decided he’d better give her a bit more.
She was quite woozy while he was injecting her the second time, and he told me that the emetic drug is morphine based – Cookie was high!
The second dose had the desired effect, and we scrutinised the result. Carambar wrappers, dental floss (good to know she’s into oral hygiene), and tablet-coloured goop. It didn’t look like 46 tablets worth of goop, we agreed. Presumably the tablets had scattered across the floor, and Someone Else may have eaten a share during the feeding frenzy that surely ensued. Our gaze fell on the Small Brown Dog.
We’d better do her too, we agreed, so, despite her protests, she was duly injected and once more we waited. And waited some more. And decided she also needed a second shot. I watched her watching Dave quizzically as he approached with the syringe. I’m pretty sure she was seeing several Daves approaching – probably a good thing in her eyes, she adores him!
She eventually produced the goods, so to speak, with a significant amount of tablet-coloured goop.
There was nothing more to be done but keep an eye on them, both dogs were now empty and stoned.
“They’ll probably sleep for the rest of the day,” he said. Yeah, right.
He didn’t take into account the fact that some of the heart medication had entered their bloodstream.
They were high as kites with frantically pounding hearts for the rest of the day. I did my best to keep them calm, but the slightest bit of excitement set them off, chasing each other, barking hysterically, running backwards and forwards around the kitchen.
By evening time they had calmed down, and presumably had the munchies. I gave them a light snack to keep them going, praying that the emetic was well out of their system. They ate normally the following morning, and proceeded to snooze for the rest of the day.
Crashed out is the phrase, I believe.
A lucky escape.