Wiley's Wisdom

Joy: From the Ground Up

Lost in Translation March 5, 2013

I have this habit of eating literally anything that resembles food from the floor. It’s habit enough that my mom jokingly calls me a doggie vacuum cleaner. (Oh, how I despise those contraptions!) Nonetheless, it bit me in the proverbial behind one day in the not so distant past when it was assumed I ate an extra strength Tylenol. That is a day I will not be forgetting any time soon.

It was about three months ago, not that long after my mom’s serious knee reconstruction surgery. My grandma and my best Buddy were over taking care of my mom (as they had been doing in the weeks immediately following her operation). It was freezing cold outside that day. And that was the one of the days in my doggie life that I most wished I could speak human.Buddy and I

That was the day my mom and her mom were certain I ate a Tylenol that fell to the floor at some point. While I do have the aforementioned reputation akin to a vacuum cleaner, I did no such thing that day. It was the most awful misunderstanding for everyone involved.

About an hour after the alleged consumption, my grandma told my mom what she believed had happened. I could see in my mom’s eyes that she was absolutely terrified, but she tried her best to remain calm as she pulled out the trusty laptop to see what she could find out about Tylenol in a dog’s system. She found no good news…especially as it pertained to extra strength versus regular strength pain killers.

This sent my beloved grandmother into a blind panic that resulted in the two of them encouraging me to drink something absolutely disgusting (they called it hydrogen peroxide, whatever that means) and then playing with me enough that I immediately had to go outside. I couldn’t stop throwing up. It was awful.

Since they couldn’t find anything in my little puddles of foamy goo that resembled a pill, the person mom was talking to on the phone advised that I get to the Family Pet Clinic immediately. My mom still wasn’t cleared to drive because of the surgery, so off I went with grandma to the clinic, where we waited and waited and they made me drink more awful liquid (I think it was called charcoal) and they took blood and we waited some more.

Silence is not my friendI paced and moaned anxiously while my grandma cried in the little waiting room. And I knew my mom was doing the same at home. I felt so helpless, and everything I had ingested (other than the alleged pill) was making me feel weaker by the minute. When I got home almost two hours later, mom was an emotional wreck. What a mess, I remember thinking to myself, before the shivering started. I couldn’t stop shaking that night, even though I basically passed out upon re-entering my forever home.

Usually my interpretation of philosophy is figurative, but in this (rare) case it is incredibly literal. “In human intercourse the tragedy begins, not when there is misunderstanding about words, but when silence is not understood,” said great transcendentalist thinker Henry David Thoreau.

Sometimes my silence is maddening. Watching what unfolded that day between my mom and her mom broke my heart. A few days later the test results came back clear and we all breathed a collective sigh of relief. But it’s not like me not to find a silver lining in the mix of such things, and in this case it is easy to identify.

The people in my life must love me a whole lot to be so worried about me eating a teeny tiny white pill of doom. As they later found out, it would probably have taken at least three of them to do me any harm. But that didn’t matter to them at the time. No. They were blinded with worry about little ole me, the doggie vacuum cleaner who most definitely did not consume any pain killers that day. Perspective is pretty powerful stuff in matters of the heart.

 

14 Responses to “Lost in Translation”

  1. Wiley so happy you are fine. Sorry you had to go through that ~ and that your family did too! Hugs!

    • It was terrible for all parties involved, but as you know I make it my mission to find good in even the scary moments. Good to see you as usual. Hugs to you!

  2. Amba Says:

    I love how you ALWAYS point out the silver lining at the end of every story you share. Puts everything into perspective. It is also a great way to end every post because as a reader, I find myself looking forward to the little bit of happiness and wisdom I know I will find at the end of the post!

    I’m so glad you are safe Wiles! I’m sure your family must be relieved. *hugs*

    • Dear friend,

      I do make it my life’s mission to find the good in all things, so it means a lot when that gets noticed or appreciated. Thank you so much!!! How are your gratitude goals coming along? I think of you often and pray all is well with you! You deserve happiness in big ways!

      Yours, Wiles.

  3. It worked perfectly 🙂 You’re story made me laugh… I know what it’s like to be accused of eating everything! 😀 x

  4. dogear6 Says:

    I read quite a few of your posts and enjoyed them all.

    Hydrogen peroxide is the pits and all three of my dogs tasted it the night the Vizsla popped the top of a brand new bottle of pain killers used for the beagle’s back. No one died, but it’s a good thing we weren’t out any longer than we were. It was SO MUCH FUN standing outside in the bitter cold to make a dog throw up.

    Nancy

  5. […] about to say. Solitude sucks. I know I have previously commented on silence and my loathing of the communication gap between canines and their people, but solitude is far worse a reality than […]

  6. Reblogged this on Wiley's Wisdom and commented:

    Ah yes. The great Tylenol debacle of 2012.

  7. utesmile Says:

    Oh boy what a story. Glad they did everything they could and you could see how loved you are. WEll be careful next time and only look for scaps of bacon… 🙂

  8. kiwiskan Says:

    how awful for you Wiley

  9. Lyn Says:

    Thank God you didn’t eat it Wiles. I think they should make all pain medication taste so foul that no self-respecting dog would even sniff at them.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s