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He’s down three whole pounds this year. That’s 10% of his furry body weight. He has not fallen below the yellow line. He is The Biggest Loser. I, on the other hand, am just a plain old loser.
If you follow me on Twitter, you may have caught my impromptu Tweets from the Vet series between 5:30-7:30 PM EST yesterday. Clark has been feeling a little under the weather lately, so we made a trip to our friendly, neighborhood vet for a check-up. When the little dude hopped on the scale, it read 27lbs. Just six months ago, he was an even 30lbs. His secret: less food, more exercise. Not much of secret.
And then the appointment went somewhere strange.
When Dr. KC was examining Clark’s abdomen, his belly was making very loud crackling noises. I though maybe he had eaten a bottle of hairspray. Nope. It was a giant bubble of gas, or as Dr. KC put it, “Clark has a giant fart brewing.” Never. Never. Never in a million years did I think this would be my life: Standing in a vet’s office, talking about giant farts brewing. Inside my dog.
To give you some perspective, this potential fart is so big, it showed up on Clark’s first x-ray. What I thought was his lung (I fainted in ninth grade biology, probably on the day that we were learning where body parts are located), was actually an extremely distended small intestine. Since I caught him eating a Q-tip on Monday and several days earlier he threw up a clump of fur (if he ate a chipmunk I will be soooo mad), the vet thought it best to take another x-ray to be sure there was no, like, blockage. It took over an hour to get a clean picture, so I found myself sitting alone in a very small room, wondering if I was claustrophobic, feeling pretty certain I was claustrophobic, and reading about flea infestations. And wanting to die, a little.
When Clark was finally brought back to me (from where ever dog x-rays happen), and the doctor was confident there was no blockage (or at least nothing super obvious), we were free to go home. And by home, I mean to B.Y.O.D. where I bought him a stuffed sperm whale (I don’t know, I just don’t), some salmon, an antler and a raw bone in an effort to speed along the farting process. Seriously, this is what my life has become.
Should I call some sort of environmental agency and warn them of a potential blast of noxious gas, soon to take place in a small dog crate in South Boston? Or should I just play it cool?
BREAKING (WIND) NEWS: Thursday, 3/17 9PM. It, um… happened I think. And we all survived. Poor little guy does not feel good.
Also On Tap for Today:
- Speaking of Clarks, the con-artist formerly known as Clark Rockefeller is back in the news
- Text REDCROSS to 90999 to donate to relief efforts in Japan
- Getting excited for this weekend’s St. Patrick’s Day race and festivities 🙂
What was the weirdest thing you experienced yesterday?