And The Winner Is....

The squeamish among you should stop reading. Now. Right now. Really.

You still with me?

Okay, don't say I didn't warn you.

I came home from work today to find a dog collar attached to one foot out of a six foot lead hanging from the chandelier in the foyer. I'm happy to report that it wasn't attached to the dog. Norm had hung the remnants up where Rory for certain wouldn't be able to reach them. Leave it to Rory to eat five feet of leash the day before we want to leave for vacation. Norm came home in the late afternoon to find the collar and leash bit in the living room - so we don't know exactly what time Rory decided he needed a snack. It didn't much matter. The last time Rory at something like that (his pretty orange collar) it took ten days before he threw it up. That was lucky. I knew a leash wasn't going to 'pass through' him without serious complications and no way did I want to wait days to see which way it would go.

I also had visions of being 1,000 miles from home and Rory needing to be rushed to an emergency vet. Nothing like high anxiety to prompt some quick decisions. I weighed the options: leave it alone, get an x-ray done on his stomach (no need really, I knew where that leash had gone) or induce vomiting. Yes folks, make your dog throw up. When you live with a sock-eating dog, you learn a few things. You hope you'll never have to do it, but after Rory's sock eating escapades, associated vet bills and a very sick dog I wanted to be sure to know what to do if it happened again.

15 ml of hydrogen peroxide 3% and a syringe to get it down his gullet. Then a five minute wait. Then the oddly comforting sound of Rory going "hurka, gurka, urka" and UP comes a leash. I didn't possess Norm's presence of mind (he'd put blue nitrile gloves on for the inevitable cleanup) - I was so busy waiting to see if the hydrogen peroxide would work I had no time for anything except running over and grabbing the leash to help it exit before Rory could choke it back down. Kind of like rushing in for the birth of a baby and being just in time to catch it. Almost as rewarding, too. Norm's job was to cut out a square of carpet to get rid of the rest of the mess. Not to totally gross you out: the area was chosen for its relative ease of cleanup, since most of the carpet has been ripped out in prep for hardwood anyway. It didn't surprise me at all that Rory would gravitate to one of the last remaining pieces of carpet for this adventure. I suppose we could have stood outside in the pouring rain for this, but frankly, it never occurred to me. I was rather nervous about doing this in the first place, and what would happen if it didn't work, and so on. Brain was just focused on getting that leash out.

He doesn't seem any worse for wear. We fed him a little bit of yogurt to coat his stomach, and waited a little while before giving him half-rations for dinner. All of which he gulped down with his usual gusto.

Sometimes people say that their kids, or dogs, or bosses or whatever will be the end of them. I worry that Rory will be the end of himself. He's the loveliest dog you've ever met. Gorgeous. Friendly. Curious. Affectionate. But I have no idea what gets into him sometimes. Other than socks and leashes.