Last week, Roscoe the Bassett Hound, Roanoke’s preeminent eating machine, consumed a foreign object, hurling our pet-centric household into a state of emergency. If only Rosco had a better since of what will and WILL NOT fit in his GI tract his present disposition would be far lighter and I would be far heavier in the pocket.
Previous columns have documented Roscoe’s goat-like appetite for non-food items such as soap, shampoo bottles and over the counter medications to name a few. Due to his bizarre cravings, the humans in our house take extra care not to leave any item on the floor that Roscoe might consider a meal; this includes everything from a bowling ball to a pencil. Despite our best intentions, Roscoe continues to redefine the word “edible.”
Appearing moderately out of sorts, Roscoe showed signs of illness last week when he walked backwards around the house for most of Friday. Was this moon-walking gait a one-dog tribute to the late “King of Pop,” or was something really amiss, we wondered.
When Roscoe began to whimper and wobble around, we carted him directly to the vet, who, despite putting our hound through exhaustive testing could find nothing wrong. She was, however, convinced that something was wrong. When one houses a pack of hounds, one needs a top-notch doctor to look after them and Dr. Linda Jennings has always gone above and beyond to treat our furry family members.
When Saturday arrived, Roscoe’s belly was tight as a tick. Everyone was worried. Dr. Jennings called the Virginia Tech Animal Hospital regarding Roscoe and strongly suggested that we load him in the car and cart him to Blacksburg.
As the Tech veterinarians examined Roscoe, Janet and I solemnly waited for some good news. During the summer, Belle, our eleven-year old Bassett had died suddenly at home, a shock that none of us were quite over yet. We paced the small waiting room for what seemed like hours.
When the doctors emerged from the examination room they reported finding a round object, around the size of a golf ball, inside poor Roscoe’s stomach. Surgery would be required to remove the obstruction. A golf ball? We wondered how he could even get something that size down his throat! A small fortune later, a stinky, brown rubber object slightly resembling a Titilest Pro V1 was removed from the depths of our Roscoe. We now had a shelter dog at show dog prices.
When we picked Roscoe up from the hospital he had been fitted with a huge flat collar which the doctors had placed on his head to prevent him from licking his stitches. Roscoe appeared quite embarrassed by his new headwear which made him look like a giant chrysanthemum. Relieved that our boy was now safe, Janet and I chuckled about Roscoe’s new lid during the drive home, as our “Blooming Bassett” lay sleeping in the back seat.
Roscoe is now slowly convalescing, and although our Coonhound Mya is frightened by the collar contraption on Roscoe’s head, our little hound family is mostly, fairly, sort of back to normal. This morning I could swear I saw Roscoe in the kitchen, cautiously measuring a Meaty Bone treat before wolfing it down.
By Jon Kaufman [email protected]