I received a text while I was in sunny Puerto Rico a few days ago, fortunately on my last day there, that Harlow had made a real mess in my home. The dog walker had arrived to find a "fearful and anxious pup". Fearful no, I would say yes to anxious.
She got a hold of some books from my coffee table which have gone untouched/unnoticed since I got Harlow, and shredded them.
Dad went to check on her in the afternoon to find that she'd found more things to shred. I asked him to crate her and when I returned home late Monday night from a very long day of flying, I found her loose with more damage done. Fortunately, it was all replaceable things, but what a scene to come home to! It was hard to give her a friendly greeting, but I still did, of course. And she was strange about it. Usually when I get home, she is very vocal, but not this time. She wiggled and squiggled to see me, but was quiet as a church mouse.
It was really weird.
Yesterday I got a text from Dad "Just arrived to check on her and everything seems fine".
Then, ten minutes later after he'd looked closer "I just found your yoga mat which she got a hold of".
When I returned home, I found a crushed mechanical pencil and an empty tube of hand moisturizer.
Tasty stuff apparently.
Today I got a call at work from the dog walker about 12:30 reporting to me that Harlow had gotten into my pills and should they be taking her to the vet? My pills are kept in one of those daily compartment type cases and they are mostly calcium, glucosamine, multi-vitamins and the like. There is, however, a depression medication in there. I told the walker I'd deal with it.
I called my vet who sent me to the local ER (via the phone) who told me they didn't know about the effects of human meds on dogs (um, why not?) and sent me to a poison control hotline which charged $40 to give you their feedback.
Poison Control told me that because of the medication being a slow-release medication, she would need to be supervised overnight by the vet's office.
I headed home to pick up my dog. I knew she would be fine. As it is Wednesday, the most number of pills she could have gotten into was three (Thursday, Friday, and Saturday's). On my way home I called the ER to let them know I'd be coming and what the situation. I hung up and burst into tears at the thought of returning to the place where I last saw Oliver alive.
What? You say. You weren't worried about Harlow?
Yes, I was worried about Harlow, but somehow, I knew she'd be fine.
I arrived home to a hyper puppy, welcoming me at the door with exuberance. Since it was clear she was fine at the moment, I ignored her in frustration and went straight to the pill boxes. One glucosamine had been bitten into. That's it.
Crisis averted.
I called the ER and let them know we would not be coming after all. I assessed the other damage. She chewed the corner of my ottoman, chewed my oven mitt, had clearly been sitting on the back of the couch because the curtains were shoved aside. How the fuck did she even get up there?
I cried in frustration. I cleaned up her mess. I packed her into a car, telling her I was taking her to a gulag (she was appropriately unnerved) and went to G-Ma and Grampy's to join Dad and Bootsie for a long walk.
I let her off leash and she ran and ran and ran.
And now she is sleeping in exhaustion as I research animal behaviorists online. Better to drop $500 to deal with this now than have a lifetime with a difficult adult dog.
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