Dog-saster Stories: Part 1 (I hope there's only 1)

So it was brought to my attention that when I introduced you to Cash, I didn't tell you about one of his character flaws.  In my frenzy to tell you all about his nicknames and how much he loves his mama, I totally spaced on telling you:  Cash likes to eat.  Cash likes to eat everything.  Cheese, turkey, hamburgers.  Another thing I forgot to mention:  Cash likes to shred paper.  Magazines, printer paper, he doesn't care.

Put those two things together and you've got a story on your hands, people.

Late this summer my parents and brother were up from Little Rock.  Everyone, including my sister, was staying at our house for the weekend.  We went to dinner at Herman's, a really cool locally-owned steak place here.  I'd be remiss if I didn't let you know that my mom actually took care of the original owner, Herman (obviously) during one of her college professions as a nursing home worker.  But I digress.

Herman's was fantastic, and after being gone about 90 minutes, we came home.  When we walked in, I noticed a lot of paper on the floor.  Then I noticed that they were tampon applicators and wrappers.  I laughed.  My sister must have left a box in plain sight in her luggage and Cash, of course, sought it out and ripped it up.  As I began to pick up the wrappers and applicators, laughing with everyone (there were seriously a lot of them), I had a revelation.  Something was amiss.

The tampons themselves.

My heart fell.  My mouth got dry.  This was not that funny anymore.  Perhaps he had hidden them somewhere?  He can be a little OCD, maybe he stacked them all up in a pile?  While I had my mini-freak out, Ryan grabbed the leash and the dog and jumped in the car.  I hopped in too and we didn't talk the entire way to the emergency vet, about 7 miles away in Springdale.

I called ahead to let them know we were coming.

"Yes ma'am, this is Lauren Lowe.  My boxer Cash ate about a half a box of tampons, so I'm on my way in.  Tampons.  Yes.  Yeah, like, tampons.  Uh huh.  Half a box.  Really.  Yes, half a box.  No he didn't just eat a tampon box.  I mean like the tampons themselves.  Yes, I'm serious.  Thank you."

 So in we came.  The receptionist politely asked a lot of questions.  When did he eat them?  How long has he been alone?  How many do you think he ate?  What materials were eaten?  The last question stopped me short.  I began to realize that Cash had literally stripped open each tampon, removed it from the applicator, and then eaten the cotton.  How freaking weird is that?  I don't think the receptionist believed me.

They took him back and I ran to the restroom and grabbed a cup of coffee.  As I was walking back into the exam room, the vet was telling Ryan, who was white as a sheet, "Yes, the reason we are concerned is because, well, I don't know if you know this or not, but tampons swell when wet.  So that could cause a blockage..."  Ryan looked at me with murder in his eyes.  I'd left him alone to talk tampons with someone.

About 45 minutes later, the vet came back in.  "Well, Cash threw up 15 tampons.  No applicators, no wrappers.  Just 15 tampons.  He should be good to go.  We can't guarantee you won't find a 16th one out in the yard, but he should be fine now."

So $200 later, we left.  $200 and an entire Saturday night gone for a dog who pops tampons like they are candy.

But look at that face: