The next time I publicly comment on how well my dog is behaving, someone smack me.
The latest in Moe's attempts at suicide, although--thankfully--this one was pretty weak comparatively. We came home from grocery shopping Sunday night to a box of Nesquik chocolate milk powder, which was formerly on the counter, sprinkled on the kitchen floor. After analyzing how much we had already used + what was on the floor + what was left in the box, we calculated that Moe couldn't have had more than a few ounces. And according to the internets, at least, Nesquik is more sugar than chocolate anyway....Basically, we were perhaps in for some vomiting (which we got) and some diarrhea (which we didn't), but an emergency vet trip didn't seem to be warranted. (Helpful reminder: the chocolate chart is here.)
Moe--spoiled little fill-in-the-blank that he is--also got to sleep curled up next to me in bed so that I could periodically reassure myself that he wasn't moving past mere tummy discomfort and into rapid heartbeat or tremors. Of course, he slept like a rock, right on top of my arm, which was numb from the shoulder down by morning.
Additionally, he had washed down his chocolate powder with a big bowl full of water, so my 2:30 a.m. potty run turned into one for him too. I was sitting outside in my jammies waiting for him to go, when he decided to grab a ball and try to convince me to play.
The profanity that issued would have made the gnarliest sailor proud.
(But, little does he know, I am going to get back at him for all of this--his Howl-o-ween costume arrived in the mail the other day, and this year's is a doozy!)