Desperate Housedogs

Yesterday marked the end of my first week at my new job.  To celebrate the fact that I lasted 5 whole days, they reserved 2:00 - 4:00 for a welcome reception in my honor.  I suspect it was really more so my employees could stop by and see who I was.  I've only been in my building twice in the past week as they have had me in meetings, driving/getting lost around the city, and hobnobing with other management the rest of the time.  I was looking forward to sitting in the staff lounge and see who showed up.

In between the party and meeting one of my program coordinators I decided to stop home for some lunch and to let Edgar out.  I spent the morning in senior staffing, touring group homes (not the most uplifiting experience), and hanging out at the methadone clinic (very enlightening and entertaining).  I got home and discovered houndini was back. 

I will take accountability for this as my reinforcement methods were weak that morning because a) I was late, and b) I wanted to see if he was getting the concept and gave him the benefit of the doubt.  Stupid me.  Edgar had managed to chew up an orange highlighter on the white carpet, eat my thank you notes, destroy my jewelry box (no jewelry inside), and gnaw on a prescription bottle.  As I was beginning my "bad dog" routine on Edgar, I mistook his closing eyes as him being sheepish.  He then began to careen a bit and I realized something was off.  He had a mushed yellow capsule stuck to his fur.

The pill bottle was his.  It was the sedative the vet gave me just in case the card ride didn't go so smoothly, but since he was a dream dog we hadn't even cracked the seal.  It seemed Edgar got a bit bored and pulled a Desperate Housewife move and o/d on the pills to help pass the time kind of like Lynette who started eating all of her children's Ritalin when she was coping (maladaptively, mind you) to being a stay at home mom when all she wanted to do was work in an office.  I began to panic.

First I called work and explained to my boss, who happens to LOVE the addictions field, that Edgar and Lynette had some similarities and that I would not be in attendance of my own party as I was now rushing to the local pet ER.  I left this all in a rambling message that no doubt probably left him rethinking his decision to hire me as my bits of crazy were just beginning to show.  I then mapquested the one referral Ihad from our neighbor to vets and scooped Edgar off to the car. 

I began to think about my previous life as a vet tech and remembering that this particular med caused dogs' blood pressure to drop and thus caused liver damage.  I stepped on the gas a bit more firmly.  The pet ER looked like a renovated funeral home, but whatever.  The tech had hot pink hair, nose rings, and like most Indiana natives, reeked of cigarette smoke.

"I am a terrible mom," I announced handing the chewed up pill bottle to the tech while Edgar slept soundly in my arms like a limp rag doll, "We just moved and he pulled a houndini, ate a highlighter and these.  I used to be a vet tech so I know how stupid you think I am as a pet owner, but he needs help and I'm beginning to think the worst like liver damage."

The tech and other customers looked at the crazy woman standing there.  "These things happen."  And she showed me into an exam room.

Edgar began to rouse a bit and would go from falling asleep to waking up, realizing where he was, shake with fear uncontrollably, and then drift back off to sleep.  This happened about 10x before the vet came in.  She called him a handsome fellow, examined him, reassured me, double checked the dosage/weight and announced she needed to call the prescribing vet for the exact amount of original pills.  Great.  Now both states would know I'm a neglectful mother.  At least J wouldn't know.  He was on call and wouldn't be home until tomorrow morning.  I began to imagine the "I told you so's" regarding where the pill bottle was located and my terrible engineering skills for barricades.

Just as the vet came in my phone rang. 

"Where are you?  I came home for an hour nap and Edgars missing. Looks like he destroyed some stuff."

Great.  "We're in the Pet ER.  I'll have to call you back.  Edgar overdosed."

"Is he ok?  Are you ok?"

"Yeah. The vet's here.  Let me go talk with her."  I pretty much hung up on him.

The vet smiled and announced Edgar was within dosing range, but extremely high on that scale and we could be sent home with a steroid shot and promise of close observation until midnight.
 
I took Edgar, the sleeping puppy, home.  The doped up dog curled up to my sleep deprived husband.

"I'm so sorry I let this happen.  I promise I will be a very good mother of our future children."
 
He began to laugh.  "Yeah, this is what we hear all the time in our ER.  'I don't know what happened. I left the room for a quick second while he was playing with the pills and then they were gone!'"

"You won't have to call social services on me, I promise."  I said, " I really will be a good mom."

"Yeah, by that time you will probably be in charge of social services." He laughed.