Pickles just waltzed up to me with a big, empty Ziploc bag. Not a big deal, except that the bag previously contained bones from the fried chicken I ate for dinner. A speedy investigation revealed that Ty opened the trashcan, removed the bag of bones, ate them, and gave Pickles the bag to lick.
Enter panic! I called Ty’s foster mom who had him before we adopted him. She used to be a vet tech, and she’s my after-hours emergency vet every time the dogs do something stupid and I don’t know if it will kill them or not. “Oh, don’t worry,” she drawled, “my mastiff Duke ate a whole Cornish hen one time and he was fine.”
Apparently the dog whose stomach and intestines are ripped by by splintered chicken bones is actually pretty few and far between. My official instructions are to keep an eye on him and see if he acts weird or throws up. If he throws up once, it’s probably from the greasy fried-ness. If he throws up multiple times, something is wrong. He will poop the bones out, so I’m supposed to watch for bones and blood in his stool. A little blood is no big deal — probably just a scratch — but a lot could be a puncture. And if he doesn’t poop at all, he might be plugged up and need to have them removed.
Let’s hope for no vomit, no blood, and smooth, natural removal of the bones.
Now, to find a new home for the trash can…