This post was originally going to be very self-congratulatory charting Helen’s dismay at how CJ is more excited to see me than her. How I get bigger yelps of joy, more enthusiastic tail wagging and more demands for my attention. However after last night’s events, the subject has changed somewhat.
On Saturday night, we had a BBQ. We had a bunch of friends and family around to get used to CJ acclimatised to more people. It was also a reason for me to cook up a whole host of meat, eat and drink beer.
Things went really well at first: CJ was excited to meet new people, all my cooking was excellent and the beer was chilled. There were a number of small accidents – a dropped beer bottle, CJ leaping off someone’s lap and face planting on the conservatory floor, but by and large it was a good evening.
Then I did something stupid. Now I had been told how dogs can’t eat and digest chocolate due to something in it that can poison them. I had also been told they can’t eat grapes… though I don’t know why. I had not been told about bones. Specifically cooked chicken bones.
Now, not having a dog before I assumed that, as in books and films, dogs love nothing more than a good bone. They gnaw on them, eat the scraps of meat and then enjoy the lovely marrow bone jelly. I did not know that cooked chicken bones are prone to splintering, resulting in potential choking, the shredding of intestines and death.
So guess what I did? That’s right, after enjoying a lovely chicken wing, I threw the bone into the flowerbed. Later on in the evening, I went to go retrieve CJ from the garden and lo and behold, I found her in the flowerbed with a shattered chicken bone in her mouth. Helen’s reaction was rather strong and the words “you fucking idiot” were bandied around.
CJ unsurprisingly became very lethargic and before I knew what I was doing, I was on Yahoo Answers looking to see what I should and could do. Being the internet, the advice ranged from “take her to the vet now or she’ll die” to “she’ll be fine, dogs do this all the time.”
Not sure what to do, we opted to wait and watch and hoped that she would pass the bones incident free. She didn’t. She threw them up. Spectacularly. Twice.
However while watching her trying to cough the bones up, I was very aware about how concerned I was for her. Not only was it my fault, but also I was genuinely worried for this little creature that had been living with us for almost three weeks and had come to see me as some sort of authority figure. And here she was, ill because I’d thrown a chicken bone into the flower bed.
However 18 hours later, she seems back to her old self and there seems to be no lasting damage. However I have learnt something that society has been lying to me about for years. Dogs don’t like bones.