Xylitol: Sugarless Gum Can Kill Your Dog

Last week Batman ate some Orbit Sweet Mint sugarless gum. The rogue canine taught himself how to pull open the junk drawer.  The top drawer. He pulled out a box of gum from Costco, along with a bag of hinges, instructions for the thermostat, a couple of magic markers, and some pizza coupons. I don't know how many packs of gum were left in the box, but in hindsight, I don't think it could have been many.

Oh. No wonder you look so guilty. Foolish Labradog, how much gum did you eat? Did you learn nothing from that emergency surgery situation? Yeah, that's right, hang your head, I'm talking about the Great Tampon Escapade, not to mention the Toothpick Incident. You'd think that would've cured you from indiscriminately snarfing down whatever you come across.

Well, when you're blowing bubbles out your ass, don't come whining to me.

But then, I thought, I'd better look this up. Just in case. And I was stunned. Orbit has an ingredient called Xylitol, a natural sugar alcohol, first harvested from the bark of birch trees in Finland and found in various fruits, vegetables, berries, even mushrooms. Xylitol has been used in Europe for some time now, but didn't find its way to the US market until about 2003. It's used in sugarless gums, candies, and in some baked goods.

Xylitol is great for humans: it's natural, has no aftertaste, is as sweet as sugar with only 40% of the calories, and studies have proven it actually reduces cavities. Something about the way it interacts with bacteria in the mouth. It's a godsend for diabetics, as it does not require insulin to metabolize, therefore does not impact blood sugar levels. And it tastes great. There are even studies suggesting a possible use in fighting osteoporosis! Great stuff, right? So what's the catch?

The catch, for dog owners, is that it can kill your dog. And it doesn't take much. I was lucky I didn't come home to a dead dog last week, people.

Dogs metabolize Xylitol much differently than we humans do. We process the stuff slowly. Dogs' bodies metabolize it all once. Xylitol tricks the dog's body into dumping massive amounts of insulin into the system, but guess what, there's no actual sugar there for the insulin to act on. The dog's blood sugar levels plummet, and acute hypoglycemia sets in.

Within 30 to 60 minutes, a dog can present with lethargy, ataxia, seizures, and even unconsciousness. Basically a diabetic coma. If it is not addressed quickly, the dog can die.

The other problem dogs face, in addition to the hypoglycemia, is liver failure. This can be accompanied by internal bleeding, due to clotting abnormalities. Even a dog exhibiting few hypoglycemic symptoms can end up with liver damage, or even acute hepatic failure. The liver damage may not manifest until 12 - 48 hours after ingestion, and it can be permanent.

There is no antidote for canine Xylitol poisoning. The acute hypoglycemia can be countered by inducing vomiting if the ingestion is discovered quickly, and/or by administering a dextrose IV solution. However, if the hypoglycemia is not treated quickly, liver damage or failure can follow, and vets are not able to do as much for that.

If you see any of these symptoms in your dog, especially if you suspect your dog may have had access to sugarless gum, candy, or sweets, get your dog to the vet immediately:

• Weakness or lethargy
• Pale gums
• Ataxia (uncoordinated movements)
• Depression
• Vomiting or diarrhea
• Hypokalemia (decreased potassium)
• Seizures
• Collapse
• Unconsciousness
• Liver dysfunction and/or failure

If discovered quickly, and you're sure about what your dog has ingested, you can induce vomiting using fresh hydrogen peroxide, 1tsp (5cc or 5ml) for each 10 lbs of body weight. (I've done this with Batman before, and it took 4 or 5 tsp. He weighs nearly 70 lbs. I did it with Mason once, it only took 1 tsp.) CALL YOUR VET FIRST: depending on your dog's symptoms, s/he may advise against inducing vomiting to avoid possible aspiration into the lungs, or if more than two hours has passed since the ingestion. Activated charcoal does not effectively absorb Xylitol in the stomach.

After hours, you can call the ASPCA 24-hour emergency poison hotline directly at 1-888-426-4435. They may apply a $60 charge, but you don't have time to waste if your dog has eaten this stuff. If this happens after hours, take your dog to a 24-hour emergency animal hospital. You guys know I don't say that lightly -- I know how much that shit costs.

What happened to Batman? He showed few symptoms, but that is apparently NOT typical. He was lethargic, but not terribly. I paid $160 to have the vet run complete blood work and liver enzymes on him, and tell me he was going to be fine. My vet said a few dogs seem to react more mildly to Xylitol than most. Apparently Batman is one of those few. I feel like he cheated death. I swear that dog has nine lives.

Let me stress, that is not the norm. I read story after story on the Internets about people coming home to dead, unconscious, or seizing dogs. Dogs DIE from this. Not just a few here and there, either. Others are euthanized because the damage to the liver is too severe in the end. Some dogs are under critical care treatment for days or even a week. This is nothing to mess around with, folks. It happens fast, and it doesn't take much. A couple of sticks of some gums can kill a smaller dog. Batman is the exception - extreme illness or death are the normal results. Or maybe he just didn't eat that much? I read about a dog named Copper who died from eating the exact same gum that Batman ate.

By all rights, Batman should've been dead by the time I got home.

Most Americans don't know about Xylitol. Many vets are still unaware of the dangers. The number of cases is rising quickly, as more and more products use Xylitol. If the owner is unaware that Rover got some Tic Tacs from the car, or snatched some gum from an open purse, those incidents get chalked up to an unknown cause, so the number of deaths is probably higher than reported.

For the record, other sweeteners like sorbitol and mannitol are not harmful to dogs. The gum Batman ate had Xylitol listed as "less than 2%", with sorbitol as the first ingredient, and mannitol also listed. Other gums, like Trident, have higher amounts. Orbit made a new line called Orbit Complete, in which the main draw is the high levels of Xylitol. Like I said, it's great for human teeth.

There is pressure on the FDA and manufacturers to use warning labels. The FDA says they're in the business of people, not animals. The manufacturers are afraid people will think the product itself is bad, when actually it's just the way dogs process it. So, no labels yet. Greedyass corporate bastards. Capitalism at its best.

So no cookies, gummy bites, muffins, mints, or gum for Fido. I'm glad we still have Batman. I read a lot of heartbreaking stories about people who lost their animals. Be careful with your canine friends, people.

Go In Peace, Cadbury.

Today was a sad day. Our rabbit, Cadbury, died today. He was eight years old. The Bohemian got him for her 13th birthday. (I was thinking her 12th, putting him at nine years old, but she says 13th, and her memory on these things is better than mine.) What's really sad is that she's due to come home next week. Teen Demon said it's probably better that the Bohemian didn't see him sick. I guess that's true. You can read more about him, here. It has some funny parts, because he was a funny rabbit with a distinct personality.

He was acting sick yesterday. He wouldn't eat - completely unlike him - and wasn't hopping around. He drank a little chamomile tea last night, and today I fed him some with a syringe, but he really just didn't want anything.

This morning I wrapped him in a towel and took him outside. I just had a bad feeling. We sat in the sun for a while, and I held him his favorite way - cradled like a baby. He was just so still. I think he liked smelling the fresh air and being in the sun though.

When I picked Male Offspring up from school, he went straight to see how Cadbury was. That's when we found he had died. He just looked like he was sleeping. It was almost like he waited until after he'd been outside and cuddled one more time.

It's times like this when it's really nice to have a son. He called his big sister. He got the shovel, chose a place in the yard under the trees and near where the rhododendrons, bleeding hearts, and bluebells bloom in spring.

We buried Cadbury with his hay, his toy rabbit that looked just like him, some of his food, and some lavender sprinkled over him. The son arranged big rocks over the top in a circle. We each said things we liked and remembered about Cadbury, and said goodbye.

The Bohemian with Cadbury at about two years old.

Cadbury shaking open his treat box, as a much-younger Male Offspring looks on.

Scratching an itch

Santa Rabbit with Teen Demon

Bad (but clever) Rabbit!

Moving day, heading back to the States. The kids had marked items (Go or Stay) for the movers. Teen Demon wanted to make sure the movers knew that the rabbit was definitely in the "Go" pile.

Cadbury jumped up on the back of the couch.
The Bohemian, age 15 or 16.

Rest in peace, Cadbury. You were good, bold, funny, and loyal. We'll miss you.

But Wait! There's More!

On with the gratuitous pet pics. Dog and cat videos are a common sight in the blog world, but certain Texas bloggers have reminded me that the pet world doesn't end with the canine/feline connection. After viewing her photographic tributes to chickens, lizards, and rabbits, I've realized I have committed an egregious faux paw.

All of you are well acquainted with the trials, tribulations and medical emergencies of my two Labradogs, Batman & Mason. It occurs to me, however, that you may be living in blissful ignorance of our other pet, who actually predates the boys. I should be ashamed. Even my blogger label is "dogs", not "pets".

This creature was presented to the Bohemian on her 12th birthday, straight from the tiny Hungarian pet store on the corner. The process to bring him to the States three years later was harrowing, expensive, and nearly resulted in the term "going postal" making it into the Hungarian lexicon. Yes, I would've been the crazy foreigner screaming in toddler-level Hungarian from a prison cell, "He's not a rodent! Sign the goddamn papers!"

Teen Demon's guinea pigs, Cheeky & Friend, were sadly not authorized to travel, as they bore the unfortunate cross of being officially classified as rodents. They had to stay in Hungary with one of her friends. A couple of years later, Teen Demon received this succinct text message from her friend: "Csiki meghalt." (Cheeky died.) Facts are facts, I guess.

Our other pet was luckier. I discovered he was, in fact, a lagomorph, not a rodent. Convincing the Hungarian authorities of this fact was not easy, but we prevailed. Finding an airline that would accept him was another hurdle. Many American dollars, reams of paper, and extra flight miles later, he became a legal immigrant, although he was not permitted to ride in the cabin with the rest of the family. I still don't understand the reasoning that allows yappy chihauhaus and yowling cats in the cabin, but bans a silent pet. It's not like he's a snake, for pet's sake, he's a friggin' mammal. The airlines clearly have specieist policies in place. Nevertheless, he arrived at Sea-Tac, only to be left randomly in the airport by their crack team of employees. When he never showed up at baggage claim, we found his little carrier, balanced on a post out in the public area, with some little kid contemplating whether to open the door and play with him.



That was 4 years ago, and he's recovered nicely. Without further ado, I present Cadbury, the Hungarian lagomorph.

So Cadbury just turned 8 and seems to be going strong. When the weather warms up, we'll take the top part of his cage, or maybe dig out the harness he hates, and take him out in the yard. We can't let him loose in this yard, because there are gaps under our weak old fence which holds back the monsters my neighbor refers to as "dogs". (I keep meaning to post about that whole situation.) He loves dandelions and clover. I wish he could keep the lawn down enough that I wouldn't have to mow grass, but I guess for that I'd need a goat, which brings me back to that whole goat thing from my high school farm daze that I also keep meaning to blog about.

Redneck Mother has stated that some folks classify pet-heavy blogs as being "unprofessional". Whatever. The animalia on her blog does not take away from her scathing political commentary, her skills in raising two progressive kick-ass kids in the midst of a Republican stronghold, or the fact that she's rocking Texas as a fellow Obama delegate. Bring on the pets, I say. In that vein, I took a video of Cadbury as well, because I know you are all about the pet videos. It's kind of dark, but you can see him getting his broccoli fix.

While packing up to leave Hungary, my landlords couldn't believe we were going to all that trouble and expense to take a rabbit back with us. Laci, the husband, kept joking about how we could leave him there and he'd have Mari whip up a Cadbury pie. They found this hilarious, and laughed about it for days. We thought they were just poking fun at our vegetarian ways, which Laci always saw as some sort of illness. Turns out that all this time, they thought the name Cadbury was actually Cadberry, and that a cadberry was the English name for some type of American berry not native to Hungary -- you know, blueberry, strawberry, gooseberry, cadberry. A "Cadberry pie" was actually a witty double entendre that we just didn't get. They, of course, had no idea who the Cadbury bunny is. Yeah. That's my funny pet story for the day.

So that's our rabbit. I'm not blogging about Teen Demon's fish.

The Boys, in Photographs

To those of you who missed me while I was actually having a life, I love you man. To those who didn't, well, I guess you have lives all the time. Isn't that nice. No, I'm not bitter, why do you ask?

I've been insanely busy and have way too much to write about to actually do it. For now, let's go with an installment of the canine chronicles. Many of you -- okay, three of you -- have taken the time to write me and specifically ask for pictures, video, and news about the dogs. That may be more than the number of emails professing to be pining away without me.

I'm not sure how to take that.

So, without further ado, I present Batman and Mason:

Batman, rolling in the yard

Mason, after his bath last week

Batman taking a breather yesterday.

Nap time.

Mason's freakish drumsticks. Mason has odd back legs. You can't tell so much when he's walking, but sometimes he lies down like this. I can't imagine how this could be comfortable.

Mason, last summer at the dog beach.

Not a recent pic, but it makes me smile to look at it.

I should've gotten a pic of Batman playing with the new tug toy Teen Demon let him pick out at the pet store today. She'll have to be careful of his teeth ...

The Canine Chronicles

We actually had two days of sunshine, which helped my mood considerably, so I loaded up the dogs and took them to a local park with trails in a big wooded area. With all the fuckery of this year -- everyone's illnesses, Batman's tooth surgery, the car mess, our regular schedules and the constant rain -- I haven't had the boys out to run much as much as I should.

They were thrilled at being turned loose in this dog paradise. Mason, old as he is, looked like a joyful puppy, trotting back and forth, nosing around, finding stinky things. Dogs are so weird about stinky things. I think Batman saw a squirrel, because he was doing his best greyhound imitation when all of a sudden he stumbled, stopped short, and was yelping and howling like a four-legged banshee. I'd never heard Batman cry before. He's very stoic when in pain, and tends to mask it. When he broke that huge tooth off at the base, we didn't even know it until it fell out of his mouth.

I thought he'd gotten tangled in blackberry bushes, and took off to free him from the thorny bonds. When I got there, no blackberry bushes in sight, but he was stumbling, still yelping and crying. His leg was just hanging there, not moving. Shit. I'd never seen him actually look afraid before.

The son had seen it from a different angle. Batman had run into a jagged tree stump. His back leg got caught in it and probably got twisted. He couldn't walk, even on three legs.

Thank goodness I had my son with me. He carried Batman more than a quarter mile to the car. That may not sound like much, but you try carrying 70 pounds of scared, squirming Labradog in an uncomfortable position and make it around your local track one and a half times. There is no way I'd have been able to get both dogs out of there without him.
Anyway, in typical Batman fashion, this happened on a holiday weekend, and my vet was out of town. Sound familiar? Yeah, that's how we roll here. We described the symptoms to our vet, who was in Arizona, and who happens to be Male Offspring's girlfriend's mom. She said we could wait until morning as long as we kept him immobilized.

Luckily the vet's office was open the next day, President's Day, otherwise I'd be bending over for the emergency vet's version of a Sloe Comfortable Screw. There were no open appointments, but we were welcome to drop him off and they'd get to him between appointments. I really didn't want to drop him off, but it was either that or suffer the perverse ministrations of emergency vet. I dropped him off.

This is actually genius, from the vet's standpoint: they get to charge me for the non-existent appointment and in-house, drop-off care. They may not ram it home as hard as emergency vet, but they've got their own techniques.



Unbelievably, the leg is probably not broken. It's still swollen, but definitely not a clean snap, the bone feels okay. There is still the possibility of a hairline fracture, or a badly torn ligament, but they're thinking it's just a strained ligament. If he doesn't improve by tomorrow morning, I'll bend over again for further measures, but I'm hoping that won't be necessary. He is putting weight on it now, most of the time, although he still holds it up at times. He's got good drugs, so he doesn't care much, and he's got squirty stuff to put in the ear which had been bothering him. Yeah, he hates that part.

I'm just glad he's probably going to be okay, and that the son was with me.

Next time, Batman, can you please, for once, try for a weekday when our vet is in town? Thanks.

Meanwhile, Back at the Batcave...

---UPDATE BELOW---

Batman is home from the Evil Dog Abuser known simply as "Vet". Actually, Mason is the one who dreads visits to Vet. Batman does fine. They all love him there. They are convinced he is an "angel", one of the "sweetest dogs they've seen", and "unusually smart". He's not even afraid to be left there -- he just trots right on back, like he's going to get a treat or something.

Anyway, I picked him up a bit ago. Poor guy, he's woozy and a bit stumbly. He was all drugged up, but when he saw me, he tried to wag and prance just like he was sober, eliciting oohs and ahs from the receptionist and techs all the while. Sling, I don't think he gave away his superhero identity, but the tech did seem to be looking at him with a newfound respect. He's sleeping next to me now, snoring, which he doesn't usually do.



So Batman has these huge round eyes, I mean the dog is channeling Li'l Orphan Annie at the best of times. When he's drugged, he looks like that dog in the fairy tales with dinner plates for eyes. Even the folks at the vet offices, who see drugged dogs every day, can't get over how crazy big his eyes get. Once I took Batman back after his stomach surgery of '05. It was months later, and the tech was all, "Omigod! That's the dog who had the gigantic eyes!" It's like there's no iris whatsoever, just giant black pupils. It looks kind of freaky, actually. I was going to get a picture of it, but with his green "magic eye" effect even in normal photos, I was afraid I'd blind him with them dilated like that.

You all would not believe the size of the root on this tooth! It's bigger than the other 2 pieces combined. I mean, this thing is a tusk, people. It must've gone all the way up to his nose. Now I understand why the canine teeth in particular are such a big deal. From what the vets I called said, and the internet as well, the canine tooth is the worst tooth to remove because the root is enormous, relatively speaking. Apparently it's a real job to get those jokers out of there, and now I see why. And since I know you guys love seeing gory pics, here's one for morbidly curious.


I should've put a quarter in there for scale or something. Put it this way, the root piece on the right is the size of the entire bottom half of my first finger, no kidding. And I have long fingers. The piece on the far left is the part that was actually visible in his mouth before the break - what you would think of as his actual "tooth". Most of the middle piece was under the gum line - this is the other piece I pulled out the day after he broke it. The root is flipped over from how it would've fit if all 3 pieces were together. Anyway, it doesn't look as massive in the picture, but suffice it to say, I was shocked.

So that's that. She also removed a small wart that was growing on his lip, cleaned his teeth and did blood work, so he's good to go. He's got antibiotics and pain meds that should have his eyes working their magic for a while yet.

Poor pretty boy. I'm glad he's ok.

--------------------------------------
UPDATE:

The patient had his first dose of pain meds and his antibiotic, and is sleeping, although restlessly. He managed to eat his dinner, and kept it down. Batman doesn't play when it comes to food -- he could probably lose every tooth in his mouth and still find a way to eat. He's been coughing every now and then, his throat sounds froggy when he sleeps, from the breathing tube. I can tell he hurts. Poor buddy.

Earlier today he woke up, saw his green ball, and gingerly picked it up with the good side of his mouth. He stood there for a while, then walked over and sat next to me. He just sat there for the longest time, holding the ball, like he wasn't sure what to do next. Finally I held my hand out, and he just dropped the ball in my hand and lay down. When a Lab can't figure out what to do with a ball, you know he's feeling crappy.

Lassie Channels Cujo

---UPDATE BELOW---

Does the Tooth Fairy do repairs? Because that would be convenient as hell right about now.

Batman broke his tooth. Not just any old little tooth, either. He went for the one of the canines. He's acting fine, but dogs are good at masking pain. Don't want to lose their status in the pack, you know.

Last night something weird happened. Batman went after Mason. Teen Demon had given them each their Christmas treat to chew for a little while. (Big candy cane shaped rawhide chews. This is a special occasion only treat, supervised for short periods only; after Batman's 2005 surgery, I don't want anything else getting hung up in his poop chutes) Anyway, we had them on opposite sides of the room, not even within sight of each other. Batman got up and went after Mason, apparently for Mason's candy cane, which is weird because that meant he had to totally abandon his - a sure thing - to walk over there and attempt to get Mason's - not a sure thing. Not like Batman. He never walks away from treats.

So anyway, that was really weird and not normal, and kind of scary. Mason immediately submitted, and was terrified afterward, but we had to physically pull Batman off. And I don't know what, if anything, this tooth deal has to do with that insanity. I mean, was Batman already in pain from a cracked tooth, and feeling he needed to assert his authority? Did he somehow break the tooth during the frenzy with Mason? The tooth just kind of fell out of his mouth this morning while the Bohemian was petting him.

It's a mystery.


So apparently, you can't just let a dog simply go through life with a broken tooth, oh no, because all kinds of nasty bacteria get up in there, where they can form an abscess, get into the bloodstream, travel to the liver and kidneys, and generally wreak all sorts of havoc. So we will be visiting the vet, who I'm sure will take great pleasure in reaming me, right in the wallet.

I found a lady online who just paid $800 to have her dog's broken tooth repaired, along with a general teeth-cleaning while he was knocked out. What the fuck, people? If I had $800 to spend on teeth, don't you think I'd have my own ass in the dentists chair?

And then, you try to compare prices, and all the vets and online pet advice places are like,

It is impossible to quote what the procedure will cost, as we do not know the status of your pet's teeth and gums. Fee range is based on severity plus costs for preoperative testing, anesthesia, necessary therapy, and medication. The doctor or staff will be happy to give you an estimate once you bring your dog or cat in for an examination.

Fuckers. Come on, you've been doing this for how many years, Mr. Dog Doctor? You seriously can not give me a ball park estimate? You want me to believe you have no earthly idea of what it might cost to fix my dog's broken canine tooth? Because I'm thinking you could give me a price range if you really wanted to. I'm not asking for an exact quote here, just a general idea. Oh, wait ... that would mean spending 30 seconds on the phone that you couldn't charge me for. I guess it's easier for you to give me that ballpark estimate once I've paid that $50 just to walk in the door of your office, isn't it? And it's not like you'd do the surgery right then and there, so that office visit charge can be part of the bill, no, you'll reschedule me to come back, at a later time for the actual work.

Here, hold on, let me just bend over this exam table here, and spread 'em.

And anyway, what the hell is up with my dog and the holiday season? I've recently posted about his 3rd Christmas Adventure in a row, and how we somehow got insanely lucky that this year's ingested ... objects (ahem) and the Ibuprofen poisening didn't do some serious damage. I mean, what is this? It's like, damn, eating that trash and scarfing up those little orange pills didn't bring about the annual Christmas pet drama, hmmm, what to do ... let's see if I can't break a tooth and get those credit cards going! Oh, and while I'm at it, let me pull a Cujo, and attack my friend here, just to add to the excitement!

It's like my dog is possessed by the Spirit of Christmas Freakout. His name should be Linda Blair for the month of December.

Does my dog hate Santa? Is he trying to get on the naughty list? Maybe he has a coal fetish.

-----------------------------

UPDATE:

Last night Batman's stump of a tooth turned up with a crack in it, going up into the gums. I don't know if the tooth already was fractured there, but not actually separated, or if he maybe chewed on a toy while I was gone to pick up the Offspring, "teething style", to try to relieve the pain. Regardless, his tooth stump was cracked, with the front part loose.

Male Offspring's girlfriend's mom took a look (she's a vet) and said it will have to come out, because of the crack. She confirmed what I'd found out yesterday -- the canine tooth's root is hella huge, and will basically be a bitch to get out. It will likely cost around $500. Their family is going out of town tomorrow, unfortunately. (She'd have been able to give me a bit of a break if she did it herself) She also told me that a doggie root canal - preferred for the canine tooth - would need to be done by a vet who specializes in dental surgery, and would likely run $1500 or more. Because of the crack, that's not an option for Batman anymore anyway.

So last night, I'm woken up by the sound of licking and clicking. He'd worked the front section loose. I pulled it out. He seems to feel a lot better now, but the inside of that tooth stump is still exposed, up into the gum. Of course, it's a holiday weekend, so we can't have him seen until Wednesday. His usual MO.

Male Offspring and Teen Demon both said they noticed him eating kind of slowly on Thursday, but didn't think much of it at the time. So now I'm thinking that it was probably fractured before he went all Cujo on Mason, which makes me feel better about that part. He's still acting kind of weird around Mason. I think he feels vulnerable to him. In a pack, a dominant dog will hide an illness or injury from subordinates, to prevent a lower ranking dog from taking advantage of the opportunity to move up the chain. Mason certainly has no designs on trying to dominate anyone, but of course, I can't explain that to Batman. We're feeding Mason outside, and Batman in the kitchen so he feels safe and not rushed. Mason, not the sharpest stick in the pile, keeps trying to hang around Batman.

Batman, although putting on a brave front, has turned into a Velcro Dog, and I can tell it hurts him. I've been giving him aspirin, sparingly, and using clove oil and Orajel on the tooth.

Dogs, in some ways, are more challenging than kids. At least kids can converse with you, and you can reason with them. Well, maybe not so much at ages 2 and 12, but you know what I mean.

Take 23 and Call Me in the Morning

(Note: This post has been sitting in the draft folder for days. He's fine now.)
Batman has been having issues lately. I blame the weather. Now before you all start with the eye rolling and the "Oh for Pete's sake, she'd blame the Bush presidency on Seattle's weather," hear me out.

Mason is the one with issues. For those of you who don't know his story, he was abused before we adopted him from a rescue at the approximate age of nine. He was a Velcro dog for a while; I could not go to the bathroom without him anxiously tailing me. Over a year later, I can now visit the commode alone, and he no longer flinches if we get out the broom or move suddenly, but he still has separation anxiety issues and can be a bit needy.

Batman, on the other hand, has always been happy-go-lucky with no behavioral issues, smart as a whip -- a veritable Lassie. Lately though, he's gone on a paper-shredding tear. At first I suspected Mason. Yeah, I know, blame the dog with the issues. Batman's only had two incidents in the time we've had him: The Great Tampon Escapade of 2005, which resulted in $1700 of emergency surgery right before Christmas, and Batman's Jellybean Adventure of 2006 wherein our hero ate a two-pound bag of of Jelly Bellies that Teen Demon had received for Christmas, along with some toothpicks. In hindsight, it looks like there's some sort of link with Christmas going on here, but since Batman's pretty much been trouble free other than those two things, yes, I suspected Mason.

It was kind of funny when I first found some shredded junk mail, but it got worse, progressing from shredded paper towels or the occasional piece of paper, to actually eating books. He ate several books Teen Demon was reading for school, also The Bluest Eye, and The Dog Encyclopedia. He actually started pulling them off the shelves. He even attempted to eat a photo album.


This is him, avoiding eye contact after we came home to find this book about horses. Like if he doesn't look at me, I won't figure out it was him. Sorry, Batman, but when your poop comes out basically as a fibrous white pulp, either your ass is doing double duty as a paper mill, or you're the culprit.

I couldn't figure out why this great dog was suddenly acting as one possessed by the Spirit of Cujo.  This is where Seattle's weather comes in: by the time I get home, it's dark as Satan's asshole. It is also almost always raining. Like Satan's having a piss fest on my life. I have not been walking the boys or taking them to chase tennis balls nearly as often as I should. Even so, nothing seemed amiss, because they're always very calm when we're home. Then Batman started this paper-eating deal.

Oh, I should also explain that Batman long ago figured out that bringing papers to us resulted in him getting attention. He'd come prancing in, holding someone's homework, a napkin, or the school newsletter. He didn't chew it, just brought it to us. Of course we'd ask him to "give it", and praise his retrieving skills when he proudly did. Now, however, "give it" has somehow morphed into "eat it" in his mind, and the offspring have actually had to use that tired, old excuse, "The dog ate my homework," except that it's really true.

Anyway, I think that he's bored and frustrated from lack of exercise, and maybe he also equates the whole paper thing with attention because of his paper trick, who knows. I had decided to bite the bullet and purchase some of that reflective walking rain gear that all Seattleites and their dogs seem to own, so that I can venture out in the cold, dark, wet, nastyass evenings after work, and walk my dogs without being hit by a car or soaked to the bone.

But then the plumber happened, my car is overdue to have an oil change, Christmas is a-coming, and I kept putting off buying the reflective rain gear crap.

So yesterday, Male Offspring and I come home to find the contents of the kitchen trashcan all over the floor. This would be the tall, metal, covered kitchen trashcan that you have to step on a pedal to open. The dogs have not once shown the slightest bit of interest in it. We were shocked. It looked like Oscar the Grouch had gone all Exorcist in our kitchen.

Worse, I discovered that Teen Demon's sports duffel had also been emptied, due to the booty of protein bars and Cheez-Its found within. Neither dog had ever shown interest in her bag prior to this, either. Teen Demon had had a small zip-lock bag of ibuprofen in her duffel. There were 19 ibuprofen 200mg tablets laying next to the duffel. The zip-lock itself was gone.

Shit shit shit. Ibuprofen can be lethal to dogs. I estimated there were between 0 and 20 pills missing.

I spent the next hour outside in the cold rain with a flashlight, force-feeding my dogs hydrogen peroxide to make them puke. Nothing like going through dog puke with a stick in the freezing rain, until your fingers are numb and barely functional. Batman puked up some nasty trash, which I will not even go into, but which would've likely caused the second emergency surgery of his life, had he not puked it up.

I didn't see any telltale orange, at that time, but later that night, he started puking up blood. Fuck. Welcome to level two of ibuprofen poisoning, in which the medicine causes ulceration. Great. I calculated the milligrams of meds per kilogram of dog weight, knowing that if I saw even one more symptom, it was off to the emergency vet. Because my dogs never have medical problems on a weekday during business hours. Oh, no. My dogs are strictly evening and weekend guys when it comes to medical problems. Cha-ching.

So basically I spent the night watching him for things like refusal to eat, lethargy, excessive thirst combined with decreased urination, staggering, seizures, and the like. Beyond that comes coma and death.

Already longass story short, he didn't have any other symptoms. He's fine now.


We were very very lucky. Had he been smaller, had he eaten even some of the 19 pills left lying on the floor, had the H2O2 not made him puke up the trash objects, we could've been looking at a very different kind of Christmas, and some huge vet bills to boot. I'm so glad he's ok.

I don't know what it is with Batman and Christmas, and I don't know what it is with me having house problems right before Christmas, but it's becoming an annoying pattern on both counts that I definitely do not need. I am either on Santa's naughty list, or I have royally pissed off the Baby Jesus. Somehow or other, I seem to be on the Yuletide Shit List. Next year I'm just heading to the tropics come December 1st.

----------------------

Public Service Announcement: please take extraordinary measures to make sure your pets have no chance of being exposed to ibuprofen. Animals' bodies do not process it the same way our bodies do, so even small amounts can be very harmful. Cats are actually twice as sensitive to it than dogs, and can easily die from ibuprofen poisoning after ingesting small amounts. Ibuprofen can severely damage an animal's kidneys and cause ulcerations in the stomach/intestine which can actually eat completely through the tissues. It can cause neurological problems, leading to staggering, seizures, or coma. (Acetomenophine is also dangerous to pets.)
We consciously keep all our meds out of reach, but all it takes is once. None of us thought about that small bag of Ibuprofen buried in the bottom of a sports bag, and our dogs are not usually the type to get into things, but they did this time. I can't imagine how we'd have felt if Batman had been seriously injured, or worse. We got lucky.

Gratuitous Overdue Pet Pics

Enchanted by the charms of the fetching Ms. Diamond, I was (finally) inspired to post pics of the Seattle Snow a while back. I have been sadly remiss in posting pics of the boys, which is ridiculous, seeing as I probably have about 673,892 photos of them, give or take.

We took them out to play in the snow, where Batman made a friend (Diesel, another black Labradog), Diesel lost his ball in the snow, Mason got bullied by an aggressive Dobie named General, and the humans pelted each other with snowballs. The boys don't get to see snow very often, so they got a little snow-happy.

Magic Eyes!
"Ms. Diamond ... you are getting very sleeeepy ...
You are strangely attracted to a dog named after a superhero..."

A roll in the snow. Still with the magic eyes.

Mason, with his stylish winter wear that doesn't quite fit.
No wonder the poor guy got beat up on the playground.

Mason getting a warm and reassuring pat from Teen Demon.

Holy Hallows, Batman!

Happy Halloween, all you tricksters.

I hope you get many yummy treats. And candy, too.

This is a shot from a colleague who has an amazingly complex story in tattoos across his upper body. The story starts from a young man and goes through his life, using more symbolism than I can even begin to get. Those professor types! Anyway, he's nearly finished w/ the series, and brought me photos today. This one was fitting, given the occasion.


Male Offspring's last football game is tonight. Which means not trick-or-treating. What the heck, doesn't the school district know that 14-year-olds are holding on to those last vestiges of childhood, like trick-or-treating? What's next, telling my son there's no Santa? Because I know he still believes in some Santa, y'all. Anyway, Male Offspring was very disappointed. I told him run a touchdown in for me, and I'll get you all the candy you want. It's not the same though.

The fact that they know, at this age, that they're nearing the end of childhood, makes it sadder.

The football game also means my house will be unattended on Halloween. Yeah, that's just great. And Mason with his separation anxiety, too. I'm thinking bunches of little tricksters pounding up to the door and buzzing the doorbell over and over and over and over will probably not be the most Zen experience for my boy. No dogs allowed at this stadium. If I leave a bowl of candy out for the honor system, the little monsters still have to come up the driveway to the porch. If I just leave the lights out, probably best, but then I run the risk of eggs and TP.

Beastly little heathens.

Teen Demon is working tonight. Last night she was up at the high school for "Spooky Street". Every year the high schoolers set up a safe Halloween alternative for the wee tykes. Parents can bring their little angels to Spooky Street, for fun booths and trick or treating. Teen Demon's booth was Candy Land, based on that childhood classic board game of the same name. Teen Demon and the Bohemian spent hours playing that game as tykes. The Bohemian still insists that her sister is a Candy Land cheater.

This year, Teen Demon took Batman to Spooky Street. No, he did not dress up as Batman. That would be cliché. He dressed up as a bumble bee. Batman is kind of a freak. He loves costumes. It's one of his "tricks". He loves tricks, and can do a lot of them, including "look for love" (turns in a circle), "bust a move" (jumps up, puts his paws on your hands), "take a bow", along with the usual beg, roll over, shake, and the rest.

Mason can do down and sit. That's pretty much it for Mason.

So Batman loves costumes. He prances around in any type of clothing. He especially likes Teen Demon's cheerleader skirt, but will pretty much wear anything. Except hats. Or bumble bee antennae.

Last night at Spooky Street, he was a star attraction. There was one other dog, a little thing, the kind that probably wears clothes all the time and can ride in a purse. This doglet was dressed up like Batman. I think the owner was confused that our dog's name is Batman, but he was dressed like a bee.

Why do people not get that concept?

Anyway, he loved the kids. One older lady asked if he was a service dog! He really is a good dog - we've thought about getting him certified to be a therapy dog, but the only thing with that is, you have to pledge to give them a bath EVERY time they "work". I agree they need to be clean, and bathed more than other dogs, but every single time? Like within three days of his last bath? Crazy. If he were some purse-sized yipper I could throw in the sink, okay, but it's seriously backbreaking work to bathe these two monsters. Anyway. So he had a good time and was a hit on Spooky Street.

I love that last pic - both of them had just closed their mouths and perked their ears to listen to something, and their lips got stuck in their teeth - ha!

Hope your Halloween is spooky and full of treats. And if any of you jokers come near with my house with eggs or soap, my dogs will bite your ass. They're vicious, now. The Labrador in them really comes out when threatened. So think about that.

A Photographic Tribute to My Camera: Flora & Fauna

OK, pretty much self explanatory.

The first one is for Sling, inspired by his canine pic.

"Almost!"

Slug

Where's Waldo?

Rhodie Bloom

Bumblebee

Spider

Porch Hounds

Labradogs

Nylaboner

Here's a little something I'm thinking about picking up.

Settle down, people, it's a dog toy.  For canines to chew on.  I present the Galileo, by Nylabone. It comes in three sizes: Souper, Wolf, and Petite. You can guess what size I'm going for.

I have Labs, folks, calm down.



Who comes up with this shit?  First I thought, gotta be a guy, but then ... well, maybe not. I'd invent that shit. This person is either sly and outrageously witty, or completely clueless. Here is the description:

Nylabone Galileo - World's Strongest Bone!
The Galileo is made of extra tough nylon, and is designed for powerful chewers. If you have a dog that has destroyed every toy you've given him in the past, THIS is the chew for you. The Souper size is a monster -- it measures nearly 7" long and 4" across the widest part, and weighs a lot. In fact, we've dubbed this toy "the toe buster"... we recommend you wear shoes when your dog plays with this one!

Souper size indeed. A monster? Well, I don't know about all that. You be the judge.  It does seem to have a hefty girth.

I'm just wondering if it really is indestructible. An indestructible dog toy would make me pretty damn excited, truth be told. Those jokers are expensive! I mean, the ones that last any length of time at all run $10 - $15 for big dogs.  I might actually buy this thing.

Maybe two.  You know, just to have an extra.

Budget Crunching My Life

This is Official Budget Crunch time here at my place of employment. Our fiscal year runs from July to July.

• Last day of the fiscal year: June 30th.
• Day the Powers That Be cut us off from purchasing shit on our own budget lines: April 13th. Friday the 13th this year, to be exact.

We'll see what the day brings. We do tend to get some drama going on up in here, what with some of my coworkers occasionally going postal and all, so Friday the 13th could be interesting.

So, yeah, they cut us off 2 1/2 months beforehand so they can get shit straight over in the budget office. It wouldn't be so bad if we were up and running on July 1st. But no, it also takes some time once the new fiscal year begins to open up next year's budget.

All this to say it's a royal pain in the ass. Luckily I have set up most of my vendors to do orders directly, circumventing Budget Office Approval & Processing, so I get a May 30 deadline for those direct dealings. Because I'm good like that.

Anyway, been working 12 hour days mostly this week. I'm dreaming spreadsheets. I have mostly random thoughts to offer today. Nothing coherent. Like:

1) Putting on a cold bra in a cold house is fucking torture. Seriously, it's a bitch. Ladies, you know what I'm talking about. Just starts the day out bitchy for you.

2) Why do some zits start out way the hell underneath your skin and turn into a dormant volcano? Dormant meaning that shit isn't going anywhere. I mean like when you wake up, and half your jawline is actually swollen. Seriously, like your profile is all fucked up, because it looks like you have a 4-inch tumor. Or like you've been in a bar fight. That actually did happen to me once, where I got clocked in the jaw by a member of the Hungarian mob for protesting when they beat the shit out of one of my firefighter buddies -- he made the mistake of dancing in the cage, without knowing that a couple of the working gals had reserved it -- but that's a story for another day. Anyway, my jaw pretty much looks like that, except there wasn't tequila behind it this time.

3) Why do dogs eat shit that tastes nasty? Batman has had another Gastro-Adventure. Apparently, those fake firelogs make a fine meal for a dog. Now you know that some ground up black flammable chemicals pressed into a log shape has got to taste nasty, even to a dog. I can see that road-kill might be perceived as tasty to a dog, while being repulsive to me. I get that rotting trash might be some high-living to a dog, whereas it would make me hurl. But a grainy chemicals? I could even see a dog tearing the paper off and shaking it around, but eating it? He probably ate 1/3 of the log. Puked twice the next morning. That was some of the strangest puke I've ever seen, but we won't even go there. Anyway, I added that to my WTF? canine files.

OK, back to the grind. I just found out that the buyer up in the budget office doesn't want to approve my proposal at a cost of $7,800 through my vendor, which would cost from $43,400 to $58,800 with her vendors. WTF? What is it with state institutions? I miss my old job where I actually had some power to make decisions. Especially if those decisions were no-brainers that benefited the company.

>sigh<

Oh, and I still haven't done my taxes. Shit.

Batman's Amazing Gastro-Adventure

Speaking of dogs...

Mason, our recently adopted, eight-year-old, previously abused, and therefore slightly neurotic chocolate Labramutt has separation anxiety issues. Every once in a while, if there is some paper, cardboard, or something interesting left laying around, he'll shred it a bit.

Evidently this allows him to focus on something other than the fact that his MOMDOG IS GONE.

He apparently grabbed a container of blue plastic toothpicks -- I'd left them on the coffee table, disturbing the norm, and therefore, his comfort level -- and destroyed the container, scattering hundreds of toothpicks all over his dog bed. For Mason, that's enough. Just a moment of frenzied distraction. (ohmygod, where is she, when is she coming back, ohmygod my mom is gone, holyshit where the fuck are my people ... look ... toothpicks ...)

Batman, however, must've thought Mason had unearthed some tasty treat. I found several slimy toothpicks, bent into strange shapes and flattened with toothmarks. Batman slunk over to a corner with the whites of his eyes showing.

Great.

Batman eats anything. He's not a chewer; our shoes and other belongings are safe. He eats any vegetable or fruit, things most dogs would not touch. He'd make a great vegetarian. The dog eats lettuce for Pete's sake. (No, my dogs do not share my vegetarian diet. Dogs need meat.) He also loves candy. That's the downside.

There is one other thing he likes.

For those of you unfamiliar with Batman's sordid past, he got into the bathroom trash not long after we adopted him. Evidently, tampons are pretty much like candy for dogs. Yeah. Cost me $1,700 (plus vacation days and some sleepless nights) to rid my dog of three intestinal blockages.

Anyway, fast-foward back to the toothpicks. It took me about five seconds to assess the scene. I should join the CSI crew. I can not deal with the cost of another dog-surgery right now!

Shitshitshitshit!

I hope against hope that he hasn't actually SWALLOWED any of the dangerously pointed toothpicks. They look like miniature javelins spread out on the dog bed. I hope that if he has, in fact, swallowed them, he will have chewed them into a soggy soft mess, blunting the ends. I hope that canine stomach acid is as strong as it's reputed to be. Strong enough to digest plastic before it perforates tender intestinal walls.

He's not talking.

Later, Batman found my daughter's two-pound bag of jellybeans. She had eaten less than 1/3 of the bag. He left only a small piece of the bag itself. Great. What are the odds? The last time he ate something like that was ... well, you know. Now, twice in one day!

He didn't want his dinner. NOT normal. Even during the Great Tampon Escapade, he ate his dinner. Wolfed it, actually. True, he puked it up immediately afterward, but he damn well tried to eat it. I hope against hope that the jellybeans have just made him lose his appetite. Like a two-year-old with too much cake.

He pukes up the little bit of dinner he did eat. And an assload of jellybeans. And half a dozen toothpicks. He manages to place this mess so that it spreads over the edge of the dog bed and both dog blankets onto the floor. He's nothing if not thorough.

Shitshitshit. He did swallow them. I spend the next two days following him out in the yard with an umbrella and a flashlight, waiting for evidence that his poop routes are open. He finally gave the all clear. No dog surgery.

Thankyouthankyouthankyou, Saint Francis of Assisi.

Happy Friggin' New Year.

So, it's 2007. Whee.

I guess I'm officially of the age where one realizes with certainty that New Year's Resolutions are so much bullshit. Seriously, I don't even make the attempt anymore. It just sets you up for failure.

You've heard of the Freshman 15? I've picked up the Northwest 40. If my friends or exes from Hungary could see me now, it would bring an immediate "WTF?!" response, quickly followed by the usual and socially acceptable "Hey ... so, yeah ... great to see you!" I mean, if I were seriously motivated enough to actually get up off my fat (as opposed to phat) ass and get back to my previous ass size, would I really need a certain date to do it?

Does January 1st bring some kind of magic willpower in the night? Well, maybe so, for about a day, while you're recovering from too much tequila and fireworks and dancing in the streets in sexy-ass heels, so the thought of eating makes you want to hurl, but after that? No. I've never personally experienced any lasting willpower as a result of it being Jan. 1st.

The coming of Jan. 1st no longer brings excitement, let alone tequila and dancing in the streets.

Damn it.

What it brings now is more endless, grey, rainy days with a 4pm sunset; the knowledge that I'm getting older and not better (yeah, that's bullshit, too); and New Year's Eve spent with my two remaining children, their significant others, some sparkling apple cider, and DVDs.

I'm sorry, but when the only people in the house with significant others are 17 or younger, that's not exactly cause for a toot on the old New Year's horn.

Resolutions? Please. The only resolute feeling from all of that is a hardened desire for another bowl of macaroni and cheese, rather than the desire to hop on my dusty bike for some brisk exercise in the dark, cold rain. Which, predictably, sucks my (fat) ass farther into the black hole of my vicious circle.

Happy friggin' New Year.


So I'm getting over bronchitis. Missed an entire week of work last week. Other people use their leave for vacations in the sun; I have used my leave to cough up a goodly portion of my lungs and watch endless hours of the Discovery/DIY channels and the Dog Whisperer.

I love his dog, "Daddy". That is one dog who pulls off butch and cute all in one go.

BTW, ladies (and gents), Cesar Millan is so goddamn hot. SexSAY! He could be my alpha male, Whisperer, whatever. And I am not a gal who's into the whole alpha male thing. My dogs know I'm the alpha bitch in this house. But. If you haven't seen him point sharply at a recalcitrant canine with a quick Shhht!, you're seriously missing out. It makes you want to sit and stay right there on the spot. Roll over, whatever. It tempts me to purposely encourage my dogs to misbehave just so I can call him and be on his show. Since he is married, however, that would just be foolish.  In all seriousness, there are things I don't agree with in his training methods for dogs, but whatever.  Still sexy.

-sigh-