Meatballs: A Horror Story (Rerun)

We are going away for the long weekend and I will be computerless, so I decided to rerun some oldies "from the vault" that were written back when I started my blog over the summer. A couple of my really old pals like Candid Carrie and Noble Pig have probably seen these--but not many others.

Here ya go:

Meatballs: A Horror Story
This is a really gross story, read at your own risk!My dear, departed Monte was my first Italian greyhound and lived to be 16 without a sick day in his life until the very end. He was the greatest dog ever, but what I'm about to tell you was a definite low point...

Let me take you back about 15 years ago when Don and I were living in the Boston area. He was in graduate school and I was working in the management office of an apartment building. This building had several apartments that were reserved for the elderly and they were available for a very low price. Along with these price perks, the seniors were also given free hot lunches a couple times a week.Very often, there were leftover lunches and some of the sweet old ladies would bring them to me so I could take them home for dinner. They were usually pretty gross and on this particular day it was really gross--I think the lunch was supposed to be Swedish meatballs and it looked like pale lumps in a grayish sauce. I didn't want them and I was pretty sure Don wouldn't want them either (he's very squeamish about food) but I took them because I didn't want to hurt the ladies' feelings.

When I brought them home and showed them to Don, he practically backed out of the room making a choking sound. "Get rid of them!" he gagged. I would have put them down the garbage disposal but it was broken (that story would be called "When Don Poured Muriatic Acid and Fish-Tank Gravel Down the Garbage Disposal and Broke it) and I didn't want to put it in the garbage can. "Give it to the dog," Don said, still gagging.I was hesitant because I didn't usually give many table scraps to Monte, but I thought it would be a special treat for him, so I set the Styroform container on floor.The amazing thing about watching Monte consume those meatballs was that he did not chew--at all. You know those hose things that you attach to the vacuum cleaner so you can get the dirt out of the sofa cushions? It was like his snout turned into one of those hoses and he just sucked up everything in record time.Don and I watched in amazement as Monte inhaled them without even stopping to breathe.

When he was done, he stood there motionless for a moment or two. Then I saw his whole body ripple and contract and I knew he was "rejecting" the meatballs.Sure enough, the vomiting started ,and it was equally gross and amazing at the same time because when the meatballs "came back" they were perfectly intact. If he had vomited onto a platter, the meatballs and sauce would have looked "ready to serve."

It's about to get a lot grosser...

Within moments of the vomiting, Monte went back into "vacuum mode" and began re-sucking up the regurgitated meatballs. Don and I watched in horror, but this time it looked like he was going to keep them down. Monte stumbled off somewhere to sleep off his meatball-fest and Don and I went on with our evening.

Later, when we were watching t.v., Monte staggered into the room and proceeded to have the worst diarrhea attack imaginable!! I'll spare the gory details--but it was BAD!! The next half-hour or so involved a lot of screaming and swearing and crying as we tried to clean this unthinkable mess off the carpet.

Wait! There's more!

What I didn't realize was that Don was attempting to flush his wads of soiled paper towels down the toilet! By the time I noticed what he was doing, it was too late--the toilet backed up and overflowed, flooding the bathroom and adjoining hall with brown meatball-diarrhea water.And there you have what might be the grossest pet story ever!!

File Under "One Of Those Days"

I swear sometimes taking care of dogs can be more trying than dealing with the kids.

I wrote recently about my ordeal with one of my dumb dogs, Hazel, and she was up to her old tricks again today. If you don't feel like reading my past account--let me just sum up that it involved rat poison, life and death scenarios and thousands of dollars in vet bills.

So early this morning I had just stumbled downstairs and let the dogs into the yard. I was going through my early morning routine--getting the kids breakfast, packing their lunches, etc. As I waited for my coffee to brew I gazed out the window and happened to notice that Hazel was eating something out there.

Now I'm paranoid, given her past history of poison consumption, so I ran outside to see what she was up to. Just as I got out there, one of our other dogs, Petey, was getting in on the action and eating it too. They had already eaten whatever it was but I thought I saw a flash of something bright green and that had me worried because I have learned the hard way that rodent poisons (or "rodenticide" to us pros) are bright green. Hazel quickly ate that speck of green and I sent them inside and searched around the grass for any more clues. I found another little nugget of bright green and, upon closer inspection, was almost positive it was this stupid rodenticide. I put my specimen in a Ziploc bag and continued with my the routine until the vet's office opened and I could call.

The thing about this poison is that it's slow-acting. You don't suddenly become sick--it slowly removes the vitamin K from your blood so the blood stops clotting and you eventually bleed to death. Nice!

I put Pickle down for a nap and called, hoping they could just give me some vitamin K and we could call it a day--but no--they said I had to bring the dogs in immediately, which meant I had to get Pickle up from the nap I had just put her down for.

Did I mention it was pouring rain?

Now I had to wrangle a tired toddler and two hyper, poison-riddled dogs into the car in the rain--and then out again on a busy street.

I was greeted at the vet's office by a waiting room covered in dog-doo. An apologetic woman was trying to block people from stepping in it while trying to control her out-of-control dog. Just picture me--soaking wet--holding Pickle (who wanted to get down but I couldn't let her because of the dog-doo) while my dummy dogs wrapped their leashes around my legs.

Finally the mess was cleaned up and we went into the examining room where I explained what happened and produced my evidence in the Ziploc. The vet said she wanted me to leave the dogs so she could examine them and then she was going to induce them to throw up (ew) so she could check the vomit or whatever. I was barely listening because I kept thinking OMG this is going to cost thousands.

Later the vet called with the "vomit report" and said that Hazel's puke was loaded with the bright green stuff, but Petey's wasn't. She recommended that they both be put on vitamin K (for three weeks!). This was what I wanted to do in the first place!!

She went on to say that they didn't have the right kind of vitamin K but she would call my prescription into Walgreen's (?). Can you get dog medicine there? I guess so!

So back out into the rain for the dog prescription. I made the mistake of thinking dog vitamins at Walgreen's wouldn't cost too much. Get this: Hazels pills--$124 and Petey's pills--$188!! FOR DOG VITAMINS! I don't spend this much on all of Patrick's asthma medications. I felt sick paying for it.

Then back into the rain again, this time to pick up the dogs. Shelled out more money to the vet--reinforcing what I always tell the kids--which is: if you want to be a millionaire, be a veterinarian.

So I hope the dogs will be ok. The real mystery is where this poison is coming from--we certainly aren't putting it there. The only thing I can think of is that others are putting it out and maybe small animals or birds are dropping in in our yard? I don't know. All I know is that it's putting us in the Poor House.

The one bright spot in my day--I made a recipe from Cathy of Noble Pig--Baked Shrimp with Fennel and Feta and it was delicious! Here are a couple of pics:

So at least we had a nice dinner! Tomorrow will be better, right?

Hazel

This post is going to be all about my dog, Hazel.

She is an Italian greyhound (all my dogs are!) and I got her from the IG rescue. She's a beautiful dog with an interesting and mysterious background.

According to the people at the rescue, she was found in someone's garage right after giving birth to four purebred Italian greyhound puppies. They were all taken to the rescue and, since she was obviously bred, much care was taken to spread the word and contact any breeder in the vicinity that she may belong to. No one ever claimed her. She was at the rescue for over a year when they finally gave up and put her up for adoption.

Our local rescue had a booth at a dog show where we saw Hazel for the first time and we went through a lengthy interview and paperwork process to get her. I guess she had an ill-fated adoption before us, when, allegedly, she attacked the new owner's pet bird--I can't imagine though--I think it was an excuse!.

She has been a great dog--but with no shortage of drama! A couple months ago (while I was McBlogging!) I wrote about when she escaped from our vacation house--providing the only negative scenario in our otherwise perfect vacation. Luckily, she came back and all was well.

About a year ago, she started acting really sick. Just out of the blue one day. She didn't eat (which is her joy in life) and retreated to her kennel--I knew immediately that something was wrong.

I took her to the vet right away and he, upon examination, noticed that her entire underside was bruised. It startled me and I couldn't imagine what had happened. The "vet's" (I use this term loosely as he was such an idiot) suggested that she had been attacked by an animal in our yard, hence the bruising.

"Impossible," I told him, "Our fence is seven feet high and I would have heard that kind of commotion."

Not to mention there were no scratch or puncture marks. I joked with the kids that the vet's diagnosis was that a bear scaled our fence, punched Hazel in the stomach and left!

I asked if maybe she was experiencing a blood clotting disorder--but he said no--we would see bruising in other places if that was the case. He maintained that she had been attacked, but ran some blood work to rule out some diseases.

The next day he called to say the blood work looked ok, but to come in again for another blood draw so they could compare values. Meanwhile, Hazel seemed really sick and the bruising was worsening.

The following day (which, of course, was the day we were expecting out-of-town guests and I was in a cleaning frenzy) the vet called in a panic and said that based on the blood work, he thought Hazel had ingested rat poison (they call it the ominous-sounding rodenticide (good band name? I think so!)) and that it was imperative that I drop everything and take her to the emergency vet immediately. He said she needed 24 hour care.

So I high-tailed it to the emergency vet (NOTE--I tell my kids that if they want to be millionaires, to go into the emergency pet business--that's where the big bucks are!) and they took Hazel right in.

I was dismayed to hear the vet say that things were going to be "hit or miss" over the next 24 hours. I guess what happens with rat poison is that it removes the vitamin K from the body (that's what makes blood clot) and without it you start bleeding internally. That's why Hazel had all the bruising--she was bleeding!

The vet said that they would start administering vitamin K--but if she starting bleeding somewhere like her brain--there would be nothing they could do--as operating when the blood isn't clotting would obviously cause more bleeding. The last thing she said was "Hope for the best but expect the worst."

I felt sick.

The next 24 hours were excruciating as I was trying to entertain my guests but so worried about poor Hazel. I was really mad at that first vet for not having a clue that she could have been poisoned and said that ridiculous thing about an animal attack. Apparently time is of the utmost importance when dealing with this type of poison and we had already wasted two full days.

Luckily, everything worked out. They were able to get her clotting levels back up and I had to continue giving her vitamin K pills for awhile after that. But she was back to her old self again!

Fast forward to yesterday--I let the dogs out in the yard as I do every morning. after they had been out for a few minutes, one of the dogs was barking relentlessly which is really unusual.

I went out there and saw right away that something was wrong with Hazel. Her whole body was rigid and she was flailing around--trying to walk, but she couldn't. I picked her up and she fell into a stupor--glassy eyed and drooling.

I started screaming for the kids to get in the car so I could drive her to the emergency vet (NOTE: getting five kids, including an almost-two-year-old, and a sick dog in the car is no easy task.) As we were driving, Hazel seemed to snap out of the stupor, so I decided that it would make more sense to go to wait a half hour until our regular vet opened. By the way, I have since switched vets from the ones who misdiagnosed her the other time.

When I explained to the vet what happened, she said it was definitely some kind of a seizure but that figuring out why it happened would be tricky. Of course, they ran blood work.

Later that day, she had another seizure which worried both me and the vet. Her blood work came back normal except that she was low on phosphorus (whatever that is). The vet said to give her some whole milk which apparently is a quick way to get phosphorus into the system! (Don't ever say I wasn't handy with obscure medical advice!)

I took her back today for more blood work and now all the levels are fine. She has not had any more seizures--but I feel like I'm on pins and needles!

Right now, she's curled up next to me while Don and the boys watch football (bor-ing!) and she seems fine.

I don't know how this latest Hazel drama is going to turn out--but please cross your fingers it has a happy ending!

I don't know who the bigger Drama Queen around here is--Pickle or Hazel!

Meatballs: A Horror Story

This is a really gross story, read at your own risk!

My dear, departed Monte was my first Italian greyhound and lived to be 16 without a sick day in his life until the very end. He was the greatest dog ever, but what I'm about to tell you was a definite low point...

Let me take you back about 15 years ago when Don and I were living in the Boston area. He was in graduate school and I was working in the management office of an apartment building. This building had several apartments that were reserved for the elderly and they were available for a very low price. Along with these price perks, the seniors were also given free hot lunches a couple times a week.

Very often, there were leftover lunches and some of the sweet old ladies would bring them to me so I could take them home for dinner. They were usually pretty gross and on this particular day it was really gross--I think the lunch was supposed to be Swedish meatballs and it looked like pale lumps in a grayish sauce. I didn't want them and I was pretty sure Don wouldn't want them either (he's very squeamish about food) but I took them because I didn't want to hurt the ladies' feelings.

When I brought them home and showed them to Don, he practically backed out of the room making a choking sound. "Get rid of them!" he gagged. I would have put them down the garbage disposal but it was broken (that story would be called "When Don Poured Muriatic Acid and Fish-Tank Gravel Down the Garbage Disposal and Broke it) and I didn't want to put it in the garbage can. "Give it to the dog," Don said, still gagging.

I was hesitant because I didn't usually give many table scraps to Monte, but I thought it would be a special treat for him, so I set the Styroform container on floor.

The amazing thing about watching Monte consume those meatballs was that he did not chew--at all. You know those hose things that you attach to the vacuum cleaner so you can get the dirt out of the sofa cushions? It was like his snout turned into one of those hoses and he just sucked up everything in record time.

Don and I watched in amazement as Monte inhaled them without even stopping to breathe. When he was done, he stood there motionless for a moment or two. Then I saw his whole body ripple and contract and I knew he was "rejecting" the meatballs.

Sure enough, the vomiting started ,and it was equally gross and amazing at the same time because when the meatballs "came back" they were perfectly intact. If he had vomited onto a platter, the meatballs and sauce would have looked "ready to serve."

It's about to get a lot grosser...

Within moments of the vomiting, Monte went back into "vacuum mode" and began re-sucking up the regurgitated meatballs. Don and I watched in horror, but this time it looked like he was going to keep them down. Monte stumbled off somewhere to sleep off his meatball-fest and Don and I went on with our evening.

Later, when we were watching t.v., Monte staggered into the room and proceeded to have the worst diarreah attack imaginable!! I'll spare the gory details--but it was BAD!! The next half-hour or so involved a lot of screaming and swearing and crying as we tried to clean this unthinkable mess off the carpet.

Wait! There's more!

What I didn't realize was that Don was attempting to flush his wads of soiled paper towels down the toilet! By the time I noticed what he was doing, it was too late--the toilet backed up and overflowed, flooding the bathroom and adjoining hall with brown meatball-diarreah water.

And there you have what might be the grossest pet story ever!!