Dog eats semi-sweet chocolate

I have three children--two daughters and a dog--although technically, according to the dictionary, my dog would not fall into this category. 

Only, trust me, he falls into many subcategories of the definition, including "causes extreme worry and concern to the parents until death," and yes, before you ask, I refer to myself as my dog's parent.

Yesterday afternoon we discovered our dog had eaten a container of semi-sweet chocolate chips. This led to education on Pet Poison Control, a late-night trip to the emergency vet, and shelling out several hundred dollars. Don't even get me started on the worrying, the crying, and the slinging of blame.

This is not the first time Elliot has eaten chocolate. He does so only when he is pissed at us.

Yesterday, while at my volunteer job, the house security app alerted me to motion at my front door at 11:30 a.m. I viewed my daughter arriving home from her volunteer job. She had left behind her lunch and had come back to get it before going to work. She peed the dog, loved on him, and left. Total time at the house: Five minutes.

Uh oh.

Me: "Let me tell you now that my dog will go into my daughter's room and will go through her garbage. This is what he does when we come home briefly and then leave again. He punishes us by going through garbage cans and/or taking whatever is under my kitchen baker's rack."

Boss: "What is under there now?"

Me: "Potatoes. He will scatter those through the house. It's his fuck you to us."

Boss: "That's funny."

It normally is. 

I got home at 1:08 p.m. and immediately went into the daughter's room to discover. I know my dog well. He'd gotten into her trash, although it'd been a half-ass attempt. Only three Kleenex tissues had been ripped and left on her floor. He had not touched the potatoes. I should've been suspicious. 

Instead, I put away groceries and made myself lunch. The dog did not beg me for a bite. Even then, I WAS NOT SUSPICIOUS. Looking back, I do believe there was a twinge, one of those in the back of the head itching to move forward, but I ignored it. I was tired and had a medical issue at the forefront of my brain. I missed the signs.

At 4:15 p.m., the daughter returned home. Several minutes later, she and the dog began playing hide and seek, running through the house, her hiding, and him seeking. She discovered the yogurt container in the Steelers room that had--as of last week--been full of semi-sweet chocolate chips. It was completely empty.

My husband had left the kitchen pantry open that morning, and instead of messing with the potatoes, Elliot messed with the container. He took it into the Steelers room, pried open the lid, and yum, devoured its contents. 

We stared at the dog. He was smiling and waiting for my daughter to run. He showed no signs of distress. Having been through him eating chocolate before, we really didn't panic. They continued playing, and we went about our day.

He did not eat his dinner, nor did he show any interest in it. All he wanted to do was drink water. Even then, while we were upset at this inconsistency, we did not panic. It wasn't until after 9:00 p.m. when he upchucked a quarter size goop of brown, chocolate water that my daughter Googled the problem.

Holy shit! There is a big difference between a dog eating milk chocolate to a dog eating semi-sweet chocolate. 

WARNING! WARNING! DEATH! DEATH!

Everything said we should've done something immediately. Dogs must be forced to vomit in the first two hours. If not...

WARNING! WARNING! DEATH! DEATH!

We panicked. We cried. We imagined all the most horrible worse case scenarios, and then we blamed ourselves, each other and the husband/father. We even blamed the damn dog. 

Who still seemed none too concerned.

By the time the husband/father strolled in at 9:38 p.m., we were in full-blown, out of control, hysteria. He's not good at confronting that. We went around and around in circles. We told him he needed to take the dog to the vet. Eventually, we must have convinced him to at least call the vet.

He called and left a message. That message was relayed to the emergency vet in our county. While waiting for his call to be returned, husband/father Googled the issue. 

WARNING! WARNING! DEATH! DEATH!

Then he threw around blame and caused us to cry.

He called the emergency vet number, got the info they'd just been updated by our vet, and told him to call Pet Poison Control. At PPC, after giving them $75 via credit card, they devised a plan. It consisted of TAKING HIM TO THE EMERGENCY VET IMMEDIATELY.

Meanwhile, the dog had pooped normal and was sitting outside in the front yard, enjoying our cooler weather. He wasn't thrilled about a car ride, but off they went.

After a thorough check which came back with all of his vitals normal, the emergency veterinarian conversed with PPC and then gave Elliot an injection to induce vomiting. Which he did. Piles and piles of liquid, watery, chocolate. 

Vet: "He vomited quite a lot of chocolate."

HOURS after consuming it. 

It just sat on his stomach. 

We aren't sure if it was because it was old chocolate or because of divine intervention or because of a stubborn stomach, but out came the poisonous death chocolate.

They let him puke until nothing more came out, then they gave him anti-vomit medication, IV fluids, and sent him home. He could barely walk when we met him at the door at midnight, sobbing and slathering him with kisses and love. All he wanted was water. Which he couldn't have. Not for four hours. 

Tom stayed up with him for another hour or so. I went to bed but didn't sleep. At 4:30 a.m. Tom got up and gave him water and watched him for signs of vomiting. When he kept down the water, they both went back to bed. This morning he ate his normal breakfast, and he's been normal since.

I, however, have found multiple gray hairs. 

More sprouted when I came looking for Elliot to find him sleeping by the OPEN PANTRY.

I take back my first sentence. 

I have four children--two daughters, a dog, and a husband.