A few nights ago was the worst. We put him in his kennel (3' tall), and that was apparently not an obstacle for him. We came home, and he had eaten 2 CLIF Builder Bars (mint chocolate), several CLIF Bars (oatmeal raisin & blueberry crisp), a few yams, chewed up a wine cork, and who knows what else. For those without dogs, chocolate and raisins are bad for them. That much fiber and protein won't do great things to them either. We decided that for the first time, we weren't going to force him to throw it all up (hydrogen peroxide does wonders). It was time for him to finally pay for his compulsions!
The gas that emitted from him seemed ludicrous. Quietly we tried to lay around a few times, but he kept squeaking them out. You could hear them as he was walking around. Just like Granny, he tooted with each step. Speaking of Granny, she's finally home from the rehabilitation center. I talked to her this morning after she got settled. She sounds way better. I'm a little worried she might have stroke face, though. Lord knows I can't handle being that distracted when I'm talking to somebody.
We came home today to Angel laying on our bed, wiggling away. Problem? When we left, he was comfortably in his kennel. We had placed a blanket over the top of his kennel, in order to deter him from trying to jump out. Instead, he brilliantly found his way out, tore into some Advil Cold & Sinus, and ate one of Annie's headbands. I can't bitch too much the headband, it was hideous. That's one point for Angel, but things are still about to get real!
|Uh oh, pups, look up. Daddy rigged up your kennel. Try and get out now!|
Naming a dog Angel: the opposite of self-fulfilling prophecy,