My dog, Abbie, is a ticking time bomb.
I am counting down the hours until she is considered safe from the "throw up period". Only 20 hours, 18 minutes, and 23 seconds remain.
You see, I took the dogs out for their afternoon outing and when we walked by the dumpster I planned on throwing the bag of dog poop into the trash. What I didn't plan on was what was lying on the ground. It happened in such a blur that I hardly know what happened myself.
I had stepped over something that looked like fish scales to me and as I tried to keep the dogs heads up from sniffing it I wasn't fast enough. One look at Chloe's jaw moving around and I figured she'd snagged whatever it was on the ground. I immediately set to work trying to open her jaws and finally managed to get my hand in there and pull out a small gray mass of who knows what.
While giving my full attention to Chloe's circumstance I unfortunately missed out on what Abbie was up to. I was feeling triumphant over getting the mush out of Chloe's mouth until I realized the piece I had seen on the ground was much larger than what I pulled out of her jaws. One glance at Abbie told me she'd snatched the major of the 2 pieces on the ground and was attempting to swallow it.
I immediately jumped to Abbie and pried her jaws open as she continued to battle it out with chewing and swallowing the massive object. All I saw in the back of her throat was something that resembled a fish's tail. Scales and all. I tried getting my hand in there to pull it out but it was too late! I grabbed the back of her neck and attempted numerous moves, anything I could think of, that would cause her to throw up the contents she had just consumed but to no avail.
I was in a flurry of panic, growing frustrated and dealing with the onset of a dangerous sugar low all at once. You can imagine how frazzled I looked.
Needless to say, I am now awaiting the arrival for the contents of her stomach to resurface. I'm sure her stomach is being put to the test as we speak on how well it can digest.
And so I wait, with every passing tick-tock of the clock. . . . .