C'mere honey, I need your butt

Tomokee suddenly went off his feed Friday afternoon (after the plumber got done fixing the pressure-assist toilet in the main bathroom). He was clearly in discomfort and, given his tendency to eat everything not nailed down, we took him to the vet that night (Adobe Animal Hospital). The staff there (yes, open 24/7) suggested waiting 'til morning to see if it would clear on its own. It didn't, so back to the vet Saturday morning.

No pictures for this post, and you'll be well and truly grateful after reading.

So, the vet on a Saturday is like Chicago's O'Hare airport, if all the passengers were milling around on leashes, sniffing each others' butts. (Don't laugh... if the TSA has it's way, it may come to that). We wait to be squeezed into the schedule and draw exam room 1 (the ultrasound room) where a tech grabs the dog and utters the title line, "C'mere honey, I need your butt." Temperature, by way of this indignity, is determined to be normal (that's good, unlikely he's perfed his gut). We're assigned to Dr. Nancy Clifton, who palpates Tomokee's gut and gets a squeak of protest. She orders up abdominal biplane xrays to see what he might have gotten into.

The films are stunning, showing what looks like a sausage stuffed with something granular, like sand... that would be his colon full (I mean chock-full) of something. A little thought later, we realize T-dog has eaten a digestive-system-full load of birdseed from the garage. This is confirmed when Dr. Clifton does a DRE on the beast and retrieves, for her trouble, a finger-full of birdseed.

While we're much relieved, there are things that need doing, and those things aren't pleasant... it'll take two enemas with a snake that Roto Rooter would envy to make things right. There's that line again, as the tech approaches the dog, hot-water bottle, hose & snake in hand, "C'mere honey, I need your butt." Fluid flows until some seriously disgusting, seed-laden water starts pouring out. With that loaded up, our job is to hoof the poor uncomfortable beastie around the Adobe parking lot, while he looks like he's got the St. Vitus Dance, if that actually involved random motions and shooting seed-laden water out your backside (I don't think that's actually one of the symptoms). After a bit, he's straining to produce little mounds of dry (!) seed. Yeeesh.

We let him wander around 'til things calm down. He's visibly more lively and comfortable, but knowing what the xray showed, Dr. Clifton orders enema pass #2. This time, we get tech Mandy, who, whilst delivering the second load of fluid, announces that we were lucky to draw Dr. Clifton, apparently known at Adobe as the "Queen of Constipation." Nice to know, I guess, given T-dog's dining choices.

More dancing, squirting and seeds later, Dr. Clifton is concerned that the dog is dehydrated, so she orders up a shoulder-load of saline (500ml to be cameled in the loose flesh of the back for absorbtion). Tomokee is rigged up to the drip by tech Chris. He has some good stories to tell about this technique, and winds up making 2 humps, not just one to avoid over stretching the original site.

Tomokee got home, obviously feeling much better. He unloaded some more seed in the back yard. He growled at me for trying to pick it up (in a bag fer cryin' out loud)... he wanted to eat the seeds again (double yeeesh!). I just shoved him aside (he's pretty beta, really) and got most of it out of the way of his maw.

The good news is that he's fine now, back to playing ball. Our heartfelt thanks to the fine folks at Adobe. All's well that ends well.