Hook, Line, and BB

***Disclaimer: No animals were harmed in the making of this blog post. Thank you.***


It was the day after Thanksgiving, and we had just begun hiking a beautiful trail at Table Rock State Park. Poppy the Dog had joined us with enthusiastic bounding down the path in front of us. Suddenly, she stopped, and was wolfing down an object in the trail. The children all exclaimed, "Ew!" when I noticed what looked like a slime trail coming from her mouth as she chewed. Seth, my Dad, and I stooped closer to find that the slime trail was not slime at all, but fishing line, attached at one end to a homemade fishing pole, the other end quickly vanishing down Poppy's throat.

"No!" We all yelled, partly at our crazy dog to stop her from eating, and partly because we all realized what was at the other end of that line--a fish hook. Seth and I grabbed the line, reached into her mouth, and pulled. Poppy gagged. We pulled harder. Poppy gagged. A bit of blood appeared at the back of her tongue.

"Oh no no no no," I repeated. Poppy looked at us sheepishly, fishing line hanging from her mouth.

"We've got to get her to a vet," Seth said.

"On the day after Thanksgiving?" I asked, panicking a little. "Do you think vets are even open on the day after Thanksgiving?"

"We'll find out," he replied.

We broke the line off of the stick and started back the way we'd come. Our kids were looking extremely forlorn as we left them with their cousins, aunts, uncle, and grandfather to finish the hike. "Don't worry, it'll be alright," I said, as we ran past them, but in my heart I wondered if it really would.

After making several stops, and asking several people for directions, we drove 40 minutes into the nearest town to find the very vet I had noticed on the drive into the area a few days ago. I had jokingly pointed it out to Seth that day, saying, "Hey there's the nearest vet, in case we need it." I'd said the same thing about the hospital, but fortunately, that didn't come back around to bite me.

The veterinarian immediately took Poppy in the back for x-rays to see where the hook was. The string had already disappeared "down the hatch" of course. When he came back with the films, his first question was, "Now you say you pulled on the line and it wouldn't move?" Our hearts sank. Now we were sure we had embedded the fish hook in our dog's esophagus.

He threw the films up on the lightbox on the wall. "Well that ring in the first x-ray is just from the leash around her neck. As you can see, here is her esophagus," he points. "And there isn't anything there. It would be as bright white as that ring." He points to the second film on the right. "And here is the rest of here digestive system."

I knew right away, there was nothing hook-like on either film. Yet I couldn't help wonder about the bright dot on the second one.

"What's that white dot?" I asked.

"That's a BB," the vet replied off-hand, continuing his description of our dog's intestines. In my surprise, I thought he meant someone left a BB on the x-ray table.

Seth was also confused, "She swallowed a BB?"

"No. It's in her back. In the muscle," replied the vet, finally derailed by our questions.

"So," Seth said slowly, "she doesn't have a hook in her, but someone shot her?"

"It appears so."

We both began to shake our heads, laughing and giving Poppy hugs. She was going to be fine! Yes, she had a metal ball in her side, but it had probably happened before she came into our lives. We couldn't even feel it under her skin.

We realized the absence of a hook made sense. The fishing line had been tied to a stick. A short one. Probably by a kid. Kids don't have hooks, right? So what do they do? They tie the bait to the string. The makeshift fishing pole doesn't work out, so the kid drops it on the trail. Poppy comes along, slurps up the bait (Seth thinks it was a frog), line and stick still attached. Poppy's family freaks out, rushes her to the vet, and spends $110 on x-rays to find out there's no hook. Just a BB. Yay.

The BB explains a few things about our dog, though. When she first adopted us back in February, she had a limp. We thought it was because the neighbors had tried to shoo her away (they told us so) and had kicked her (we assumed so). Now we know they shot her. Shot her! That's the country for you. Shoot first, ask questions later. The BB also explains why she is deathly afraid of guns. To see what happens when Poppy sees a gun, go read this post.

So we returned to the campground to a fanfare of Hurray's! and questions from everyone. Poppy received hugs and ear scratches and a warm place by the fire. We were able to enjoy the rest of the trip without any more emergencies. The vet advised us to watch Poppy for stomach discomfort and keep an eye out for the fishing line to come out in her, um, you know....

I gave that job to Seth.