Joker

Last week as I was trying to get Cash asleep, I heard my nephew Austin - who has been staying with us for the past couple months - come up from the basement.  I recalled how the dogs were still in their outside kennel and hadn't eaten yet, so I asked Austin if he'd feed them the left over chicken I had bought at Hugo's a couple days ago.

"Sure," Austin said.  "Do you want me to give it to them even if it has bones in it?"

"Yep," I said.

"But isn't that bad for them?" he asked.

"They're dogs I said," thinking about what my father would have said and also recalling how Joker once swallowed an entire ham bone whole.

Secretly, I was thinking, well if something does happen to one or both of them, that'll be a couple less things that I have to worry about.  But I didn't really wish anything bad to happen.

Well . . . it did.  For it wasn't more than a minute or two when Austin came into the house and announced in a worried voice: "There's something wrong with Joker!"

"What?"

"He's just laying there."

Oh great, I thought.  The one time I think about something bad happening to one of our stupid mutts, and, sure enough, it does.

So Austin sat with Cash while I ran out to see what was going on.

Sure enough, there was Joker sprawled out on the side of the house.  It looked like he had been shot.  I ran over to him and tried to stir him.

Nothing.

I picked up a leg and let go.  It sank back to the ground. 

I shook him.

Nothing.

His eyes didn't blink and they seemed to glazed over.

I put my hand to his chest and felt a very, very faint heartbeat.

I really wasn't sure what to do - there was no way I was going to do any mouth to mouth - and then I thought of Brian, Kristie's co-worker, who had given his beloved beagle some chicken and it had choked on it.  Finally, actually reached down into the dog's mouth and extracted the bone.

Well, here goes nothing, I thought, as I opened Joker's mouth and saw the tongue hanging limp and plunged my hand down past his jaw bones and down into his throat.

Sure enough, I could feel a piece of chicken lodged tight.  It was wet and slippery and I could quite get a hold of it.  Finally, I grabbed it and pulled it out.  I tossed the half eaten piece of a chicken wing onto the grass.

Nothing.

Well, he is getting pretty old, I thought.  But then again, I can't just leave him here over night.

Unsure about what else to do, I resorted to my CPR training and began chest compressions. 

Nothing.

I smacked him in the face a couple times and tried to lift him, but he was too limp.

I could still feel a faint heartbeat, though, so I kept the chest compressions coming.

Finally, Joker coughed a bit, blinked, and began to wheeze.

After some more compressions, his legs began to jerk.

It was at this point that I seriously began to regret trying to bring him back.  I had a thought: what if he has brain damage and can't move his back legs?  What if he's deranged?  What if he's a vegetable?

Then I figured that his brain can't be much larger than my fist.  Seriously, how much could it have been damaged?

I picked him up and his legs began to move, though he couldn't stand.  He let out the most pitiful whimper I have ever heard.  Then he gave me a tender look and his eyes said, "Help me."

That was when I knew I wasn't going to give up on him.

I carried him to his kennel in the garage and ran into the house to make a comfortable spot for him in our breezeway.  When I returned to the garage, Joker was able to stand on his front legs and wobble like a drunken sailor.  Progress!

I got him inside the house and gave him some water.  Usually, Joker drinks any water I put in front of him, but he didn't want any.

Well, if he dies now, I thought, at least I've done all I can.

I set him down on the blankets and towels I had laid out for him in a corner and went to check on Cash and fill Austin in on what was happening.

When I finally checked on Joker twenty minutes later, he was able to stand and wag his tale.  I figured that he was going to make it then.

I figured that his throat must hurt from me yanking the chicken from it, so I crushed up an Oreo (I figured maybe he could use the carbs to give his old heart a bit of a boost) and fed it to him.  He gobbled it right up, so I knew he was going to make it.

Then next morning, Joker was pretty much back to normal.

However, when I went to let Kozie out, I noticed that she had thrown up chicken meat and bones all over her kennel.

I cleaned that all up and thought how maybe she had a chicken bone stuck in her stomach that was making her sick.  Sure enough, after school she had thrown up again!

The sadistic part of me thought, wow.  this 8 dollar bag of chicken just about took care of the two biggest pains I have to deal with.  But that was the end of Kozie's ordeal and she was fine by the end of the day.

Now both Joker and Kozie are fine.  And I'm not allowed to feed them bones of any sort!

Fair enough.