...try 2 wayward, gluttonous chihuahuas!
So its my turn (she does it every week, I do it once every 6 months) to take out the trash. Im trying my best, gettin it ready for the trek down to the dumpster on my way to work when, alas!, I am distracted by something insignificant.
Long story short: the garbage sits on the deck all day.
And because of my haste, I also left the door open.
I arrive home with Donia at 6:00 and see trash all over the deck! Since Mr. Gus has been locked up because of the previously mentioned obsessive pee situation, he cannot (surprisingly enough) be the culprit. Theres Nash, sitting bright eyed and bushy tailed by the trash hes ripped open and strewn about.
Heres where the mistakes continue...
In my blinding rage, I quickly pick up the dirty newspapers, let Gus out of his pen, and run to get the door shut and the trash picked up before any more damage can be done. Gus thinks its buffet night at The 1020 and begins to sniff around and lick the floor, rug, and ingest any trash he can. During this shitshow of 5 minutes, I decide to feed them so as to distract them from the chaos. This works, but I have now screwed myself even further.
Nash jumps up after hes done eating and I notice...Jesus he is fat! Like fat, like hugely bloated fat! Shit! I quickly start to spiral into a panic! Have I not only let him gorge himself on trash all day and then enabled him to be even more of a pig by pouring him a bowl of dog food...YES!
The worst part of this thing hasnt even happened yet...listen on...
As Donia surveyed the trash situation, she noticed what hed eaten: veggies, a turkey sandwich and, worst of all, chicken bones! Chicken bones splinter and cause problems like possibly internal bleeding, large vet bills, and/or death! I call Vet Dawn immediately, google the closest vet, and Donia and I discuss the next step. We are supposed to see a Mariners game tonight, 7:00, its 6:15, but Im so scared that if we leave him, he may get really sick and we wont know. We wont know until 11 pm when we return from the game and hes keeled over bleeding from the ass.
Now, she knows I dont wanna go to the game to begin with, so I dont even MENTION the prospect of not going. Im thinking it, but not saying it. She brings it up first and I beg beg beg her to know Id never use this excuse to get out of the game. Promise! I actually feel really bad at this point cuz she loves the games so much. She is FANTASTIC though and very understanding and deserves someone way less irresponsible than me. She knows this.
So we are now sitting and watching the game from the comforts of our living room on tv. We actually put the tix on craigslist for free and only one guy called, and then said nevermind! Shows you just how bad those Mariners are, I guess. Instead I got her some wine and a cozy blankie and have to wait on her hand and foot or the night for causing us to stay home (I chose to do these things, she did not demand it. She is enjoying it, though)
If there was a DCYF for dogs, Id be the poster-mom for bad pet owners.
Update: we took the dogs for a walk to, 1 get outside since were missing the game, and 2 to work a bowel movement out of Nash (hopefully one of many). It worked, and it doesnt look like its gonna be a fun night if Nash keeps doing what he did in the grass outside our apt...
