Brad and I ran some errands last Friday, returning home to the following sight on the dining room floor:

You might not recognize it, but it is the remnant of a gum drop tree, minus precisely 140 gumdrops and stainless steel 1” straight pins as we would later learn. I had made it for a Christmas decoration. Though we had it tucked away on a ledge, we hadn’t yet packed it and the other melt-able decor away because we’re currently shuffling around our closets to make room for baby. Here is the innocent-looking gum drop tree in all its glory, prior to consumption:

We suspect that Sushi the cat, who enjoys pushing various objects off ledges for fun of watching the gravitational pull, pushed the gum drop tree onto the floor to within reach of the doggies. We weren’t sure whether one or both of them had consumed all or part of the gum drops and/or straight pins, but we did know a few things: 1) the boys were acting giddy as though on a sugar high; 2) Kramer was springing around the house like he had gotten away with something; and 3) there was no trace of any gum drops or pins. Obviously at that point, the culprit(s) were still feeling just fine.

We immediately called our vet to make sure they’d stay open for us, and then rushed both doggies in for x-rays. Cosmo was first in line. His x-ray came back clear. Then, we saw Kramer’s. As you can see below, it clearly shows a conglomeration of dozens of straight pins suspended in a goo of partially digested gumdrops. Since it was now nearly 6 PM on a Friday night, upon our vet’s referral, we rushed the dogs to the emergency clinic for surgery without even slowing down to pay the x-ray bill on our way out the door. Our vet called the emergency clinic twice on our way to let them know a medical emergency would be coming within minutes.

Once we got to the emergency clinic, we handed over the x-rays, signed in, and… waited. And waited, and waited, and waited. We sat there for over an hour while other animals, with less severe prognoses I might add, came and went.

Meanwhile, Kramer was obviously deteriorating, from pooping right there on the floor (very unlike him), to puking up blood. When I asked Wendi at the front desk if we could therefore expedite our consultation with the vet, she replied, “Sorry, but all the vets are tied up on the phone right now. Have a seat – we’ll be with you shortly.” I felt like Ben Stiller in the airplane boarding scene of Meet the Parents.

So at 7, the vet, who must’ve been in a back room counting dollar signs, finally emerged for our long-awaited consultation. She took about 2 seconds to tell us that she recommended surgery (duh), and then spent the next 10 minutes detailing the money situation. She just wanted to prepare us for the worst, so she said. She showed us a detailed printout estimate, and let me tell you, it was a whopper of bill. But she assured us it was the “worst case scenario.” We gave her the green light, and told her that our main concern at that point was the already considerable delay. In response, she said she would have them immediately start Kramer’s IVs for surgery, and we’d get a call when the surgery was over.

TO BE CONTINUED…