Friday, February 27, 2009

Dogs don't do drugs.

What a crazy 48 hours. Wednesday morning Grendel, the curious German Shephard, got into my purse and got into some pills. Buried deep in my purse inside of two closed zippers, I thought they were safe. That will be the last time I fancy myself smarter than a dog. I woke up to her running in circles amidst the wreckage of my purse, including an empty bottle of Aderall (amphetamine stimulant). After inducing vomiting she went to the vet. Two harrowing days and $1,000 later she is fine, sleeping it off on the couch.

The incident is actually the inspiration for this blog. She is not supposed to be excited and every time I move from the couch she gets up. So I am staying still and typing this blog. I could be sitting still and looking for jobs but I am allowing the trauma of the last two days to be an excuse not to.

Now that she has made a recovery we are the left with the emotional impact of a dog who od'ed. Is she hanging out with a bad crowd? Or maybe she took Aderall for the competitive edge she needs to get into college? These overachieving kids today. There is more to life than getting into Brown. Couldn't she just smoke in back of the Stop and Go?

Regardless of her motivation, my guilt for keeping narcotics-ironically designed to help me keep my shit together-anywhere but in a locked cabinet is paramount. I will not deny her slobbery tennis balls ever again.

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