I said WATCH the Birdy

Last wednesday Sophie threw up her breakfast.

She was out in the yard and I noticed she was obsessing on a part of the grass. This is what she does, maybe all dogs do, when their breakfast is going to waste on the lawn.

This has happened before, she’s a delicate gal with a genteel digestive tract. Sometimes she heaves just because her body believes she gone far too long without food. So, knowing the drill, I ran out, scooped everything up and brought the girls inside.

When dinner time came around, she wasn’t very interested, which around here is very very odd. She ate a little and then later out in the yard, that little bit came back to haunt us. Again I did the drill, brought Sophie in and made sure to give her a little soft snack before bed, it may have been a few small pieces of expensive aged cheddar, poor thing.

Thursday was a repeat performance in two acts, with an encore. It was the encore that was really interesting. After reviewing her breakfast and her dinner on assorted carpeting throughout the house, I thought the show was over. But early in the evening I came across two damp spots on priceless, vintage dining room braided rug. The maids had left for the day so I dutifully mopped with a few rags. Shortly after, I sat down on Brian’s little love seat, (that’s one of two small sofas in the living room, not a euphemism), and noticed a strange glob next to the dog bed.

It was purplish, lumpy in a globular way and had two little leaves artfully arranged at one end. “She must have eaten a bunch of fake grapes” the CSI in me speculated. I went to check the bowl where my only grapes were located, and there they were, right where they were supposed to be. I racked my feeble brain.

I’ve “collected” hundreds of bunches of fake grapes, teeny miniatures to grossly oversized, but they are all packed away in the cellar. Where did she find this one? Again I went for the rags, rinsing them out before going to mop up Sophie’s newest masterpiece. Wiping down the sink I picked up what I took for a blade of grass, (the natural component dogs ingest to alleviate gastric distress). But it wasn’t grass, it was a feather. There was more than one, and it was unmistakably a long, black and thin feather.

Fade in: a look of startled clarity comes across your writers face. He shouts to the girls, since it is only him and the canines in the house. Brian is, of course, on the west coast. “You ate a BIRD? You ATE a bird!” Weimaraners ARE bird dogs, but they’re supposed to capture them and bring them, soft-mouthed, to their master’s feet. “You AREN’T supposed to eat DEAD BIRDS!”

The blob of death must have been nesting in Sophie’s gut for at least 48 hours, now it was laying on my sisal, (feel free to retch, I did). And later that night, while I was on iChat with Brian and Parker and Jeff in Seattle, Sophie performed again. This time, her screen premiere on the internet.

Friday I had an appointment at the vet with Lucy, her first adult vaccination. I could take Sophie with me, but breakfast came and went with no fanfare, so I merely discussed it with the young doctor. Monitor her, feed her bland soft food, and make sure she continues to drink a lot of water.

Saturday breakfast was uneventful and the Vet closed at noon for the 3 day holiday weekend. As if she heard the all clear signal, Sophie began a revival show as soon as the doctor’s doors shut.

She was ravenous, constantly hunting for food. But 90 minutes after something went in, it came back up.

Then on Sunday morning my sister called. My mom was acting strange and said the side of her mouth was a little numb. “She says she’s fine,” my sister related, “What do you think?”

Facing death and destruction on all sides for the last few weeks, the fatalist in me surfaced and told her to get to the hospital. “Call 911 or push her in the car and call the hospital on the way” I advised in my calmest tone.

On Monday, Ginka, the mother, was stable but still going through tests at the hospital. It was a holiday, so things were moving even slower than their normally stagnant health “care” speed. Then after 10 that night my sister called and said that our mom had called her and was hallucinating. “She’s telling me she’s not at the hospital, that she’s sitting in my living room . . . And that there are children outside the window.”

Ginka’s not young, she just marked her 84th. She’s a little forgetful and is known for sharing her stories repeatedly, sometimes during a single telephone call. But she hasn’t been acting like this before. The nurses seemed to consider this normal behavior for an older woman. The doctors were of course, not available.

My sister was in tears. I was feeling useless. Sophie threw up.

Tuesday morning I had committed to work at Hidden Lake. Brian stayed home to monitor the phones and keep an eye on Sophie. My sister assured me that the drive in would be futile at this point, as Ginka would be spending the day with various machines in and around the hospital. She had talked to mom that morning and after a little story of being in a school, (was it all the talk of tests?) my mom seemed to settle back into reality. Sophie was booked into the vet at 2:15. I headed to the Gardens for a few hours of clearing brush from one of the trails.

I got home in time to put Sophie in the car and get her to the doctor. (Meanwhile, Brian had left to fly off to California.) Now Sophie was the one being poked and prodded (she flinched dramatically, on cue). X-rays showed bowel compaction and little flecks of bone trailing through her innards. Nothing seemed to be blocking her and temperature readings showed fever but didn’t indicate serious punctures. They advised keeping her overnight, cleaning her out, testing for pancreatitis and administering medication to sooth her gastric system.

Tuesday night, with Brian out of town, and Sophie in the hospital it was just me a Lucy playing bachelor(ette) at home. Ani didn’t even drop by to visit. We slept, (Lucy soundly), on the sofas.

Wednesday brought no answers from my mom’s hospital, but Sophie was resting comfortably and eating hospital food. A call to the Vet at noon resulted in a good diagnosis. The Doctor got on the phone. “She’s all cleaned out. I stood at her head and positioned Daniel (our beloved Vet Tech) and the other end.” the saintly Doctor Kelly told me. “I opened her mouth, shined a flashlight down and I could see Daniel waving at the other end.” (I am madly in love with Nancy Kelly.) X-rays showed no bone fragments anywhere. She was prescribed Carafate, Pepcid and a few days of boiled chicken and rice. I picked her up at 3.

Today, Sophie is at home and healing. My mom is still waiting results at Henry Ford Hospital. Sophie’s bill came to a whopping $159.00, I shudder to think what Henry will be billing for Ginka.

It’s a sad day when we can get better health care for my dog than we can get for our mothers.

Vive la revolution. It’s time to change the system.

- - - David