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0 Comments | Sep 14, 2011

Even the Trainer’s Dog

I head downstairs and something catches my eye—is that a plastic bag?  It is.  Tucked next to the piano leg is a plastic bag, the kind sliced bread comes in.  Only, this one is empty.  Well, almost empty.  It does have one whole and two partially eaten slices way at the bottom of the bag.  Hmm…not where I usually leave my bread.  A check of the counter confirms it…the dog was at it again. 

Mentally kicking myself for leaving a bag of bread close enough to the edge of the counter for True to reach, I run through some quick mental calculations.  How much bread was in the bag when I went upstairs? How long ago did she eat it?  How much does bread expand?  How much bread can fit in the stomach of a beagle before we have a problem?  Was there anything in the bread a dog shouldn’t have?  Do I have enough hydrogen peroxide to make her throw it back up if I need to?  At least the bag itself wasn’t chewed on.

A quick glance at True shows her storing peacefully on the couch, the one that only gets vacuumed right before company comes.  She hears me come in and wags her tail, not bothering to get up.  Well, why would she?  She’s busy sleeping off the equivalent of Thanksgiving dinner.  Her belly slicks out and, as I watch, she rolls a little further onto her back to make room for it.

I check the hydrogen peroxide supply—woefully low.  By tallying up the sandwiches and toast consumed between opening the bag yesterday and  True dragging it off the counter today, I’ve determined that True ate less than half of a smallish loaf of plain white  bread.  Enough to make her uncomfortably full, but not enough to cause any real problems.  I determine that the hydrogen peroxide won’t be needed today, but put it on the grocery list.  You never know when you might need it.

After giving her another hour to digest, I head for the door.  True pops up at the sound of the house keys and prances to the door, ready for a walk. As we head down the block, I’m hoping none of the neighbors look too closely.  My trim, fit beagle looks like she’s suddenly become pregnant.  We keep the walk slow (hauling around that belly is a lot of work) and as soon as we get home she heads back to the couch.

By dinnertime, her stomach is back to normal size, and she’s ready for another meal, or so she tells me. Considering that her calorie intake has likely doubled or tripled today, I tell her she’ll have to content herself with a bowl of green beans.

 No problem.  She’ll eat anything.