So dogs with splenic tumors can abruptly die, or abruptly go into just about dying. Meaning in Murphy’s case, the tumor could rupture and she’ll bleed out.
The words ‘bleed out’ and ‘my beloved dog’ just don’t make sense together. They really should never make sense together. Apparently that doesn’t matter.
Besides that, what the hell does ‘bleed out’ look like?
So I’m out there, walking Murphy and Alki, getting ready to pick up their poop. This is a fact of life, picking up dog poop, all part of that mystical, smelly real life human-animal bond, not the reason why mine is a multi-species family, but part of it. At least I’m not paying for college.
No, I am not a poop voyeur, I’m just someone who really does clean up after her dogs. And, well, poop comes in all forms, depending on how the dogs have digested whatever it is they’ve chosen to eat.
I cook for Murphy and she disdains things on the street, so I know what she’s going to eat, unlike her brother, Alki, who eats whatever he can as quickly as he can because he knows damn well he shouldn’t.
Murphy eats what I give her to eat.
So I was surprised to see big red globs come out in her poop.
My heart stopped. What, is she bleeding out? There were no signs! What the hell does bleeding out mean, anyway, and why should I have to know this? This can’t be happening.
Besides, that’s really round globs of … cranberries.
I’d put whole cranberries in her food, and Murphy had just pooped them out intact. One by one.
Anybody who saw us at that moment would think I was crazy. Laughing. And crying. At once.
© 2011 Robyn M Fritz
