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walbournSo Christmas day was reasonably laid back. My folks had invited one of my mom's friends from work and granddad Leroy--the fellow who had been married to crazy Grandma 'Bubbles' for 20 something years before she decided to bail a few years back--, and we spent the morning enjoying a fine breakfast and opening presents. My family had instituted a "one present per person" rule years ago to try to keep things reasonable, but my mom never liked it--it was basically for her. At first she'd give presents from all the pets as well, but this year we noticed there was no attempt at restraint. Todd & I have tried to impress on them that we only have carry-on, but I still ended up with a box that needs shipping home. I'm not complaining, but since we are both minimalists it doesn't really go well with mom's equating present volume with love.
With every family trip, there seems to be the requirement for some kind of drama. Be it Todd having just come out, crazy grandmother 'Bubbles' trying to ruin everyone else's day, or what not. This year it seemed the planned drive down to see Bubbles on Friday was the most likely source of drama, but between Todd keeping a tight rein on how long we stayed--Todd is her favorite, so she couldn't really take him to task for it--and making sure nothing that mattered was discussed, it turned out to be a pleasant 4 hour visit and dinner, punctuated by 8 hours of driving.
As usual, we spent Christmas afternoon working on Christmas dinner. We split up the work, but Todd tends to take the lead on most of the big stuff. As happened the past few years, I did the yeast dinner rolls. I had them ready a bit early, so we put them into the refrigerator to keep them from their second rising. The turkey finished up about an hour sooner than we expected, so there was a bit of a rush to get things all finalized. I put the two sheets of rolls out in the sun on the porch to rise since it was warmer than inside.
We are in the country, so I checked that all the pets were accounted for and didn't figure the cats would mess with it. The parents have four dogs, but they were all inside. About 10 minutes later, I returned to see one sheet empty save for a single roll, and the second tray missing one, the plastic wrap lying on the ground, and no sign of the missing dough. Looking around, we noticed that a couple of the dogs were let out but were not at the scene of the crime. It's been years since we had a dog in the house that needed to be kept out of everything remotely edible, so suspicion fell on the new beagle. Circumstantial evidence, but I was not amused at all.
Thankfully we saved a full sheet of 12 rolls for the dinner, and honestly we usually have left overs of them anyhow. Dinner was great, so it wasn't like people felt the need to fill up on bread to compensate. The prime suspect remained outside, and he spent his time staring in and wondering why he wasn't welcome inside.
Dinner was done, desert was enjoyed, conversation was good, and we played some pool upstairs while my folks finished up the cleaning. Then we heard a big belch from Barni the Beagle. Stronger circumstantial evidence. Only the new beagle seemed to have any indigestion out of all four dogs. In fact, the dog was lethargic and had an immensely tight stomach. The yeast had been working for about 5 hours at that point, and it appeared the yeast was winning.
So a call to the vet necessitated driving the poor beast 45 minutes to the Pet Emergency--the same place they had to take their first beagle a few months back with a near-death experience thanks to a full load of rattlesnake venom. I went with my dad to take the animal because (a) I'm on Pacific time and most everyone else was pretty wiped out, (b) Todd had been enjoying festive drinks (New York should replace "Don't Drink and Drive" with "Don't Drive, Drink!"), and (c) I wished the dog ill at the time he ate half the labor of several hours so close to dinner that I couldn't make another batch.
The beagle is moving slow, but is not in horrible pain. No whining, and just docile sitting about and moving slowly. By the time we got to the clinic, he was a little more active and the pressure had let off a bit with some small burping. You know, dogs can burp but they just don't seem to do it much even when they should.
X-rays showed that a football sized bag of gas for his stomach, with a baseball sized lump of dough. Circumstantial evidence just became physical evidence. If the creature had stopped at 2-3 rolls, he'd probably have just digested them ok. As it was, the yeast had thrown off the stomach acid and been happily fermenting away in a warm, moist environment filled with sugars breaking down in the flour. They induced vomiting but had to keep him overnight for fluids and monitoring.
Why overnight you ask?
Well, it's called "yeast fermentation". The dog had probably managed to create beer in his stomach and was absorbing alcohol directly into his system from it. They were worried he might end up with alcohol poisoning and decided fluid therapy was the best treatment.
The dog is fine, and my brother and father have gone to pick him up. So this year will be remembered as the Christmas where Barni the Dog ate half the dinner rolls and had to go the ER, along side the Christmas many years ago where Todd forgot to put sugar into the pumpkin pie, the Christmas where crazy Grandma Bubbles insulted my haircut, or any of the other dozen events my family can never let go because they are still funny to strangers.
With every family trip, there seems to be the requirement for some kind of drama. Be it Todd having just come out, crazy grandmother 'Bubbles' trying to ruin everyone else's day, or what not. This year it seemed the planned drive down to see Bubbles on Friday was the most likely source of drama, but between Todd keeping a tight rein on how long we stayed--Todd is her favorite, so she couldn't really take him to task for it--and making sure nothing that mattered was discussed, it turned out to be a pleasant 4 hour visit and dinner, punctuated by 8 hours of driving.
As usual, we spent Christmas afternoon working on Christmas dinner. We split up the work, but Todd tends to take the lead on most of the big stuff. As happened the past few years, I did the yeast dinner rolls. I had them ready a bit early, so we put them into the refrigerator to keep them from their second rising. The turkey finished up about an hour sooner than we expected, so there was a bit of a rush to get things all finalized. I put the two sheets of rolls out in the sun on the porch to rise since it was warmer than inside.
We are in the country, so I checked that all the pets were accounted for and didn't figure the cats would mess with it. The parents have four dogs, but they were all inside. About 10 minutes later, I returned to see one sheet empty save for a single roll, and the second tray missing one, the plastic wrap lying on the ground, and no sign of the missing dough. Looking around, we noticed that a couple of the dogs were let out but were not at the scene of the crime. It's been years since we had a dog in the house that needed to be kept out of everything remotely edible, so suspicion fell on the new beagle. Circumstantial evidence, but I was not amused at all.
Thankfully we saved a full sheet of 12 rolls for the dinner, and honestly we usually have left overs of them anyhow. Dinner was great, so it wasn't like people felt the need to fill up on bread to compensate. The prime suspect remained outside, and he spent his time staring in and wondering why he wasn't welcome inside.
Dinner was done, desert was enjoyed, conversation was good, and we played some pool upstairs while my folks finished up the cleaning. Then we heard a big belch from Barni the Beagle. Stronger circumstantial evidence. Only the new beagle seemed to have any indigestion out of all four dogs. In fact, the dog was lethargic and had an immensely tight stomach. The yeast had been working for about 5 hours at that point, and it appeared the yeast was winning.
So a call to the vet necessitated driving the poor beast 45 minutes to the Pet Emergency--the same place they had to take their first beagle a few months back with a near-death experience thanks to a full load of rattlesnake venom. I went with my dad to take the animal because (a) I'm on Pacific time and most everyone else was pretty wiped out, (b) Todd had been enjoying festive drinks (New York should replace "Don't Drink and Drive" with "Don't Drive, Drink!"), and (c) I wished the dog ill at the time he ate half the labor of several hours so close to dinner that I couldn't make another batch.
The beagle is moving slow, but is not in horrible pain. No whining, and just docile sitting about and moving slowly. By the time we got to the clinic, he was a little more active and the pressure had let off a bit with some small burping. You know, dogs can burp but they just don't seem to do it much even when they should.
X-rays showed that a football sized bag of gas for his stomach, with a baseball sized lump of dough. Circumstantial evidence just became physical evidence. If the creature had stopped at 2-3 rolls, he'd probably have just digested them ok. As it was, the yeast had thrown off the stomach acid and been happily fermenting away in a warm, moist environment filled with sugars breaking down in the flour. They induced vomiting but had to keep him overnight for fluids and monitoring.
Why overnight you ask?
Well, it's called "yeast fermentation". The dog had probably managed to create beer in his stomach and was absorbing alcohol directly into his system from it. They were worried he might end up with alcohol poisoning and decided fluid therapy was the best treatment.
The dog is fine, and my brother and father have gone to pick him up. So this year will be remembered as the Christmas where Barni the Dog ate half the dinner rolls and had to go the ER, along side the Christmas many years ago where Todd forgot to put sugar into the pumpkin pie, the Christmas where crazy Grandma Bubbles insulted my haircut, or any of the other dozen events my family can never let go because they are still funny to strangers.
