Post by Lexias on Aug 27, 2010 14:36:29 GMT -5
Before I get started, I want you to know this is not a happy story, but it have a happy ending. I will go over every detail as best as I can, to try to paint the picture of how bad this was. There is a point to the story, and I want to make sure everyone understands how bad this was so no one makes the same mistake.
I was sitting on the couch, waiting for Burn Notice to come on. I had missed the it a couple of hours ago, placing the time around 10:50. It's about to start, when I hear my mom screaming, "BEKKIT! NO!"
I ran into the bedroom. My mom is in tears, not crying, but bawling. She's trying to get a hold of Bekkit, who's running around on the bed. He's choking. I get a hold of him, and Mom pries his mouth open and pulls out chunks of a lamb knot. She grabs him and runs toward the door. I hear her say "We have to go to the vet, I think he cut his throat." I notice there is blood on my hands. There's blood on the bed.
Mom yells at me to get my shoes, she's wearing one flip flop and one slipper. I set it up so Bekki, our other dog, will be alright by herself, you know, light and fan on. As I close the door, I notice blood on the door. I run to the car in the back yard. Don't even notice the rocks on my bare feet. I get in, and we go.
Bekkit's sitting on my lap. Mom keeps asking me if he's alright. He seems to be, but that answer isn't enough. After she's asked me a few times, I tell her that I don't know. I'm not a vet. Of course, this is when we hit a red light. We sit there, mom's crying, saying "Come on, come on, come one, please God, please God, please God!" Finally, we get a red light.
Bekkit's belly starts to rumble, and he throws up, but it's the noise that scares us. It's like some whooping gargle. It's the worst noise I've every heard in my life. Mom cries harder than I've ever seen in my life. He hit the seat, so now there's a wet warm against my pant leg. This happens four times on the trip. That was what was so bad. I feel the rumble, then the whooping gargle, then mom's cries. How Mom kept herself together, I have no idea. Mom asks me if the puke's bloody, but I can hardly see any of, since I was sitting on it.
I ask Mom where we are going. After all, the vet is closed at five or six, and it's eleven. She tells me there is an animal emergency at a nearby town. Mom tells me to tell him he's okay. I'm petting the dog. His heart beat is fast, his breathing is erratic. Mom keeps begging God, and we're yelling at the people in front of us to move. He winds up throwing up again, this time between my legs.
Finally, we are on the highway to get there. The speed limit is 65. We're moving 80. I'm still sure I could outrun the car. Everything is happening at once, but it still seems to take forever to get there. I'm about to cry. Bekkit's breathing keeps slowing, then he starts panting. I'm desperately worried. Mom can seem to remember the exit, but we see building beneath us, and we take the exit.
I rush him in, not even bothering to close the door. My shoes are still in the car. We have a lot of waiting, but we get the word that he's fine. They tell us that he's still throwing up, but he's not making that noise anymore. The bleeding? Bekkit cut Mom's finger when she tried to take it from him.
Fast forward to now. Bekkit is home. He's on medicine, throwing up a bit here and there, and he's on medicine. But he's fine. Bekkit is fine.
Now here is the point. We made a mistake. We gave him rawhide. It broke off, and he swallowed some. He nearly choked to death, and he's not the best in the world at the moment. The brand we used was:
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www.canineschoice.com/DogLicious%20Header%20Card.jpg [/img]
Please, don't ever give your dog rawhide. Mom heard this, and thought it was okay under supervision. It's not. You've heard the details of what can happen now. Please, for your dog's sake, don't give him rawhide.
I was sitting on the couch, waiting for Burn Notice to come on. I had missed the it a couple of hours ago, placing the time around 10:50. It's about to start, when I hear my mom screaming, "BEKKIT! NO!"
I ran into the bedroom. My mom is in tears, not crying, but bawling. She's trying to get a hold of Bekkit, who's running around on the bed. He's choking. I get a hold of him, and Mom pries his mouth open and pulls out chunks of a lamb knot. She grabs him and runs toward the door. I hear her say "We have to go to the vet, I think he cut his throat." I notice there is blood on my hands. There's blood on the bed.
Mom yells at me to get my shoes, she's wearing one flip flop and one slipper. I set it up so Bekki, our other dog, will be alright by herself, you know, light and fan on. As I close the door, I notice blood on the door. I run to the car in the back yard. Don't even notice the rocks on my bare feet. I get in, and we go.
Bekkit's sitting on my lap. Mom keeps asking me if he's alright. He seems to be, but that answer isn't enough. After she's asked me a few times, I tell her that I don't know. I'm not a vet. Of course, this is when we hit a red light. We sit there, mom's crying, saying "Come on, come on, come one, please God, please God, please God!" Finally, we get a red light.
Bekkit's belly starts to rumble, and he throws up, but it's the noise that scares us. It's like some whooping gargle. It's the worst noise I've every heard in my life. Mom cries harder than I've ever seen in my life. He hit the seat, so now there's a wet warm against my pant leg. This happens four times on the trip. That was what was so bad. I feel the rumble, then the whooping gargle, then mom's cries. How Mom kept herself together, I have no idea. Mom asks me if the puke's bloody, but I can hardly see any of, since I was sitting on it.
I ask Mom where we are going. After all, the vet is closed at five or six, and it's eleven. She tells me there is an animal emergency at a nearby town. Mom tells me to tell him he's okay. I'm petting the dog. His heart beat is fast, his breathing is erratic. Mom keeps begging God, and we're yelling at the people in front of us to move. He winds up throwing up again, this time between my legs.
Finally, we are on the highway to get there. The speed limit is 65. We're moving 80. I'm still sure I could outrun the car. Everything is happening at once, but it still seems to take forever to get there. I'm about to cry. Bekkit's breathing keeps slowing, then he starts panting. I'm desperately worried. Mom can seem to remember the exit, but we see building beneath us, and we take the exit.
I rush him in, not even bothering to close the door. My shoes are still in the car. We have a lot of waiting, but we get the word that he's fine. They tell us that he's still throwing up, but he's not making that noise anymore. The bleeding? Bekkit cut Mom's finger when she tried to take it from him.
Fast forward to now. Bekkit is home. He's on medicine, throwing up a bit here and there, and he's on medicine. But he's fine. Bekkit is fine.
Now here is the point. We made a mistake. We gave him rawhide. It broke off, and he swallowed some. He nearly choked to death, and he's not the best in the world at the moment. The brand we used was:
Please, don't ever give your dog rawhide. Mom heard this, and thought it was okay under supervision. It's not. You've heard the details of what can happen now. Please, for your dog's sake, don't give him rawhide.
