Roller Coaster

I have no photos, nothing to fit this. I have a story. The story doesn't have a conclusion as yet, but I am hoping for the best outcome.

Earlier this week I came home to a guilty border collie. So guilty that he didn't even greet me at the door because he was hiding outside. I didn't pick up on that right away. What I did pick up on was the lid on the floor of the kitchen. It looked like the lid from the Rimadyl bottle. But that couldn't be. The rimadyl was safe in a cupboard in the laundry room.

Except it wasn't. It was on the floor of the dining room. The 180 count bottle that I had opened on the 4th of June was lying on its side, empty.

It was only a short leap through my knowledge of NSAID overdoses that we have seen so many of to get to panic.

Those that I have seen have been 15 tablets. 30 tablets. 60 tablets. Not nearly 180 tablets. Heck, evenly split between the two dogs that were home, that's nearly 90 each.

I knew I was looking at dead dogs. I panicked. I freaked. I screamed. I cried. Then I loaded dogs up and went to the vet. A calming, dear friend met me there to help.

With the doctor at the other end of the phone, a plan was made and put into action. Hazer had graciously vomited copious amounts on the ride down the hill. Please was made to vomit and vomited copious amounts as well. Then for treatment - and waiting.

So, 4 days later they are both at my feet. 48 hours solid of fluids IV, plus tons of gastroprotectants, and we are hopeful for a positive end, but must still wait out time just a little longer.

I still can't get the taste of panic out of my mouth.