On the first weekend Dan was gone my parents came up North for a funeral. Anna, her friend Maggie, and I went down to spend the night in SLC and hang out with them.
We had a lovely time eating (macaroni grill, ruth's diner, and a chocolates shop run by midgets!), shopping (my beloved whole foods and lululemon), getting in the hot tub at the hotel (I haven't been that warm in years) and trinketing (my mom even bought us a trinket of our choosing!). When I returned to Logan I went straight to pick up Otto from the Cache Valley Pet Hotel where he had spent the night. They informed me he had thrown up in his crate. I wasn't too worried as before we left he had gotten into one of my bags I was cleaning out. From the bag he eaten three Larabars and two things of chapstick - enough to make anyone a bit ill.
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But then he threw up again at home. I was debating taking him to the vet, but he stopped vomiting and acted fairly okay Saturday night. Sunday he started acting really funny. But I knew something was seriously wrong Monday night when I offered him some freshly cooked chicken, which he would normally sell his soul for, and he didn't even want a bite. I really didn't want to take him down to Ogden to a 24 hour clinic, so I deemed it divine intervention when I found a vet nearby who was open late and said they could see him right then.
First they did a fecal swab to see if he had a virus. Negative.
Next they took an xray to see if he had a bowel obstruction (which I was pretty sure this is what it was, Labs are notorious for eating inedible objects. In fact, I was especially paranoid about this because one of Otto's siblings recently died from a bowel obstruction), but low and behold, that was negative.
Next they did a blood test, and there it was: he was in almost complete kidney failure. The most likely cause: ingestion of an NSAID. The most probable scenario is that there were also ibuprofen in the bag that he stole the bars and chap stick from. Normal human doses of any pain reliever are enough to kill a dog. The vet offered a rather grim prognosis and laid out a course of treatment that MIGHT save him. I started bawling. Of course I consented to the treatment and Otto was taken back, put on an IV and given a bunch of medications. He ended up staying in "intensive care" for four days.
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I went and visited him once and they unhooked him and let me take him on a 5 min walk. It was too hard though, we both cried when I had to bring him back to his little cage. On Thursday night, at long last, they released him. The whole ordeal was throughly traumatic for everyone involved: Otto, Me, and my bank account. He seems to be doing better, though his kidney levels are still really high, and I get to give him medications a million times a day.
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Now that were mostly past it, I've thought about what drove Otto to swallow all those pills in the first place. Initially I thought it was merely accidental, he swallowed them while eating everything in the bag without discretion. But his behavior since his release has left me wondering...During his first night home he managed to try to chew open a bottle of Drano from under the sink, and began to eat a chocolate cupcake my Relief Society Presidency left uncovered on my porch (side note, who does that?). Perhaps his downturned eyes are not merely a genetic trait, but reveal a deep, suicidal sadness. Perhaps it was posturing; he didn't really want to kill himself, he just needed to get my full attention? Maybe like the teenage girl who swallows too many sleeping pills and calls up the boyfriend who dumped her in a desperate plea for love, Otto was just making a pitiful demand for my full affections. Until it is determined if he truly needs doggie Prozac or not, I have hid all the razor blades and loaded guns in the house (probably good practice anyway), just in case.