Oh how Junie loves Cleveland.
Probably more likely, June loves my parents' house. She can stretch her legs, she gets to play with my nephews and their dog Dewey, and life is full of grass she can run in and endless couches to nap on. It's a dog's dream house.
Getting there and beginning our week-long vacation this past week, however, was frought with things I worried about and she clearly did not.
First of all, two days before we left, while I was at work and June was trying out a day all to herself, uncrated in the apartment, she ate an entire chicken carcass and other detritus out of the garbage. Now, before you add to the sizable book of people who have said, "Oh you need to be careful of cooked chicken bones..."--yes, I know. That chicken was wrapped as tightly as possible and awaiting take-out to the trash...this was not so much a deterrent but an invitation and challenge, clearly. So for two treacherous days I examined more of her poop than seems possible. Of course, when the enormous amount of salt, fat, and gristle she ate stopped her up, my stress level ramped up tenfold. Now, how was I going to look for blood-streaked stool signifying permanent bowel damage and her immanent death by chicken?!?
Second, about a month into her tenure in my house (and oh what a car-ride filled joyfest that first month was!) June developed crazy car sickness. Literally every time in the car she would barf. On an empty stomach, on a full stomach, with the windows open, with the windows closed and AC on; the details of circumstance didn't matter--something, anything, and sometimes nothing would come up and she'd look at me with her miserable barf face and wonder when she could get out of that pukey machine I made her ride in. This was a bigger concern than the chicken-carcass constipation: we needed to drive happily for 6 hours. She'd been clocking about 10 minutes before projectile vomiting (although impressively neatly and tidily) in the back seat.
Thusly, armed with my credit card and steel will to make this trip happen, I went to Petsmart (on my own which always seems a lost opportunity) and $96 dollars later I emerged with treats, chewable stress relievers, spray stress relievers, some new toys, and a great recommendation for Dramamine as a cure-all (as it had always been for me too!). Emboldened, I initiated a plan that was basically a "Let's Make this Work" plan of no return.
On this side of our two lengthy car rides and a week in Cleveland I'm happy to report that, as it most often seems with dogs, everything worked out (figuratively and literally) just perfectly. The car rides were a non-issue. The combo of treats and Dramamine (1 pill for my medium sized doggy) seemed to do the trick and Pukey McPukerton had no trouble--not even one dry-heave to report. She also started jumping back into the car on her own which was a huge coup for me as obviously the treats re-wrote some of the "bad vibes" of that barf-machine. As for the bowels--they're COMPLETELY FINE, I'm pretty sure. Nothing but brown, moist, and robust have been coming out of that butt for the past four days and she seems completely fine so the Great Chicken Carcass Incident of 2016 (hopefully, there will just be that one) is over. Let's close the book on that one.
My takeaway as a new dog owner is this: dogs are pretty durable little dudes. So watching the signs from behavior and general countenance were key. And Katie, for god's sake, stop stressing out so hard. It's all gonna be fine. And Dramamine really is a cure-all for dogs and me alike--although driving with the windows helps too...which was actually more enjoyable than I ever thought possible for so long.
All is well, vacation is over, but the capers, I'm sure, are sure to continue in the least-expected ways possible.
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