Yup, that’s what I obsessed about for nearly a week.
Oh, don’t let me fool you. I’ve used lots of verbs over the last week with poop.
All for poop, my friends.
Poop, poop, poop.
Those who have kept up with the recent events last week, knew that our dear Cody ate the couch. Because of his insatiable appetite for bedding, there was a delay of last Monday’s posting of From The Desk Of The Dog. I mean really, how can you run a cheerful post about your dog while he is having diarrhea.
It started Sunday morning. I served up Cody’s regular kibble. He looked at the bowl, looked at me and headed to his bed. At first I thought that it was because he had overdone it the day before. He had been on strict house arrest since his surgery and finally on Saturday we took a ‘real walk’. He was excited and yanked and pulled and drug me around just like any dog with cabin fever. “Oh dear, I wonder if he has hurt his back again.”
We carry on throughout the day. I kept offering Cody snacks and he kept declining. As the afternoon progressed and food strike continued I made the following statement. “Dear God, what if he ate the couch?”
FLASHBACK! Friday night, Cody either was dreaming about digging after a meerkat or had finally decided to display how angry he was for being locked up for nine days. We actually sighed with relief when Saturday morning we found him proudly displaying the knee high pile of stuffing. “Thank God it wasn’t the nice couch.”
I relayed this comforting fact to the beau, “Well, the good news is he isn’t vomiting. If he was vomiting then I’d start to worry he had couch lodged in his intestines that would need to be surgically removed.”
Guess who started vomiting? This guy.
He vomited, and vomited, and vomited and vomited.
The good thing about working in the veterinary profession is that you can call your vet and beg to pick up some vomiting supplies. Back at the house, I loaded Cody up with a ton of SQ fluids and anti-nausea medication. At this point, he was completely exhausted from an hour of heaving up bile. Thank goodness, the medication kicked in and he was able to rest comfortably with no more upchucking.
We went to bed emotionally drained. The beau said, “No more. No more after Cody. This is too stressful.”
“On a positive note, he’s not having diarrhea. Really, that’s the kicker. Missing items, such as couch foam, with vomiting and diarrhea. That’s when you start thinking exploratory surgery.”
SPOILER ALERT: Guess who had diarrhea the next morning?
I woke up at four in the morning. As I opened the door to the mudroom, a miserable Cody squinted his eyes in response to the light from the kitchen.
“How you feeling, bud?”
As I started giving him more SQ fluids, I stared quietly out the window and wondered how many people besides myself were administering fluids to their pet at that particular hour.
I’m going to go with not many. I finally got him up on his feet and we went out for a pee break. I went back to sleep until my alarm went off. Time to make the donuts.
Or… time to take your own dog to work because he now has projectile fluid coming from the other end.
At work, the diarrhea continued. Sometimes there would be a little bit of mushy poop, but for the most part it was straight up liquefied.
That’s correct, he went back and forth between the two on the lower right.
I’m going to say that 97% of my readers are thinking, ‘Is that necessary? Did she really need to post a fecal scoring chart.’ The other 3% is completely amazed that there is such a thing as a fecal scoring chart!
I don’t know if it was the stress of being at work with me, but something must have started moving along again. He ate a spoonful of bland canned food. I nearly cried when he gobbled down a feeding every three hours.
Now, the hunt was on. Where the hell was the chunk of couch?
If my neighbors didn’t peg us for the bizarre couple on the block, I’m sure we’ve finally made the crazy list. With the sun setting on its winter schedule and Cody needing to go out on the hour every hour, we followed him around pointing a flashlight directly at his butt. At a time of year where spotlighting deer is happening illegally on dark back roads, we were spotlighting poop in our neck of the woods. Waiting desperately for the couch to make its grand appearance! We said inspiring words such as, “Good dog, Cody” or “Come on, Cody. Poop out that couch!”
Still, there was no couch.
Lucky for me, I had the next two days off from work. Two long days filled with fretting over crap. Not ‘should I take down the tree’ crap or ‘what to do with these Christmas cards’ crap. No, crap-crap. The real sheezy, my neezy.
The neighbors spent those delightful days watching me on the side of our quiet country road picking through my dog’s poop (which was now soft serve consistency) with sticks, corn stalks, magnolia leaves, whatever I could get my hands on at that very moment in time.
Still, no couch.
Friday afternoon, the beau came home from work. This is usually the moment where we hug, kiss and ask how each other’s day was. I went totally off script here.
“You’ll never guess who had normal poop just a few minutes ago!”
“Please tell me it was Cody.” (Which is funny, like I would be making a household announcement about my poop.)
“Oh, thank God!”
We never saw any evidence of the couch. I’d feel better knowing it was out for sure, but we’ll take what we can get. Maybe it was a virus or something yucky that he picked up while we were walking. All I know is, that dogs are a creature who have very little concern about pooping. When you are at the point that your dog is giving you crazy looks in regards to how you are behaving about poop … you know you are in trouble.