HERSHEY

 

This week has been insane. I lost the post I was working on (using my phone) describing the Unholy Yard Weasel tearing into a Popsicle stick on Sunday, thus earning her a trip to the vet on Monday. Nothing seen on x-ray. Good.

And then we had Angus swallowing that chicken bone assembly... it garnered him a trip to the vet with nothing seen on x-ray. Surely he puked it up? We couldn't find any signs on those bones.

And then there was Hershey. He had the piles yesterday, which isn't world-ending if we keep an eye on him (and get him out the back door quickly). But then he seemed incredibly constipated today. He strained and strained, and nothing came out. It was odd but... okay, it was odd. Later today he puked his head off.

OH MY GOD! HE GOT THE BONES!

I told Jeff to call the vet NOW. They called me. Could I get him there before 2:30? It gave me roughly a half hour for a 40 minute drive.

EVERY. COP. WAS. SPEED-TRAPPING. TODAY. Sheriff. Police. Highway Patrol. Of all the days for them to do it, this was the worst-possible day. Had it not been for oncoming traffic flashing their lights, I would have been nailed.

Jeff met us at the clinic. They squeezed Hershey in as an appointment. X-rays revealed... no fucking chicken bones. 

These dogs set us back almost $800 this week. I love them all to death, but that cash was part of their fence fund at the new house. LOL "You can't handle the fence! No fence-handler, you!"

AND... we still don't know where those damn bones are. Piper? Too small to eat them. Dante? I hope not.