until Dudley swallowed another sock!
Hubby rarely gets to be home with us on weekends because of his work, so this weekend was especially nice since he was home both days. We slept in (as long as the donkeys would let us) and lazied around in our pj's. Hubby built a nice fire out back and we sat out there with Duds and drank our coffee, listening to the birds sing. The weather was perfect. I fixed us a nice breakfast and while we were feasting on pancakes and bacon, Dudley had a big bowl of his favorite kibble and the donkeys munched on hay and sweet feed. Everyone was happy and content on the hollow.
We went back inside and I was doing dishes, Hubby was watching football and Dudley was up to no good, chewing on something he shouldn't be chewing on behind Daddy's chair. Hubby turned around to see what Duds had in his mouth and then I heard "No! No!" and a couple not-so-nice words and then my name being yelled in a not-so-nice way. I came running in from the kitchen and there hanging limply from Hubby's fingertips was one of my socks, soaked in slobber. Hubby had pulled it out of Dudley's mouth just as he was getting ready to swallow it. Uh oh. . .
Of course we both went into panic mode and poor Dudley was cowering behind the chair because he knew he'd done something dreadfully wrong. One sock was still unaccounted for and we tore the living room apart looking underneath chairs, the ottoman and the couch. We paced room to room, worried and fretted and willed the sock to magically appear, but it was nowhere to be found. We just KNEW Dudley had already swallowed it. Hubby got madder and madder. "You know better than to leave your socks around where he can get them!" "I know, I know, I'm sorry!" I also knew better than to bring up the fact that I've picked up many a Hubby-sock here and there and not to point out that I'm not the only one around here that leaves socks laying around. No need to poke the angry giant! And why in the world does a dog eat a sock anyway? Sheesh!
I remembered the breeder we bought Duds from had told me what to do in case he ever swallowed something he wasn't supposed to. He had mentioned a couple tricks to get Duds to throw up, and for the life of me, I couldn't remember either one. So, I called him and he reminded me that one trick was to feed him something super greasy, and the other was to pour a little peroxide down his throat. I hung up the phone and Hubby went to get the peroxide.
Poor little Dudley just sat there and took it like a man as Daddy squirted that nasty peroxide into his mouth. He walked around a little and shook his head and we paced and worried some more. I busied myself in the kitchen, trying to avoid Hubby's wrath, and Duds followed me in there. I guess he felt I was the safer parent to be around at the time. I came around the kitchen island just in time to see a huge pile of up-chuck in the floor and squealed with delight! Duds had thrown up and there in the middle of all the muck was the missing sock! Praise the Lord! I never thought I'd be so glad to have a dog throw up on my kitchen floor! We were so relieved.
So, our peaceful day had a little hitch in it, but things eventually calmed down and returned to normal. Dudley crawled up on Daddy's lap and I finished cleaning the kitchen and soon they were both snoring away. Whew!
I promise, I'll be more careful with my socks!
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