One day last month, Y accusingly pointed out that I needed to post in my blog.
"Give me something to write about," I retorted.
He delivered, but I kind of wish he hadn't
See, Y's new hobby is brewing beer.
His other hobby is not taking out the trash... which is actually a hobby we share.
On this particular day, Y was brewing a new batch, resulting in discarded hops filling our trash can.
We left the house soon after for dinner and drinks at Marvel Bar, which I'm pretty sure is the hipster capital of the world. I mean, only a bar catering to hipsters would have an unmarked, underground entrance and serve the most delicious, well thought out cocktails made with liquor you have to Google, and then offer just one, blissfully ironic food item: Cheetos.
ANYWAY. Back to the story of how Y almost killed our dog.
Yep, that's what this story is about. When we returned home from our night of craft cocktails and Cheetos and found garbage strewn around the kitchen, we didn't think twice. We always take out the trash when there's food in the bag, and Ike is surprisingly skilled at detecting the difference between food and not food. We assumed he just moved some paper towels around with his snout and buried a loaf of bread.
But later that night, as I got into bed, Ike began panting uncontrollably. And, just like when you're not sure of the liquor you're about to order, when you're not sure what the f is wrong with your dog, you google that shit. Here are the things that can cause your dog to pant uncontrollably:
2. cardiac arrest
My smart and discerning readers will understand by now that Ike was poisoned by Y's hops. So at three in the morning, we sped to our nearest emergency vet, where 4 notable things happened:
1. The vet injected Ike with fluids that caused him to have a terrifying hunchback.
2. The vet told us Ike would be okay, and that it was probably the pitbull in him that saved him. Apparently, hops are insanely toxic to some breeds ("A greyhound will look at hops and die"), but pitbull isn't one of them.
3. The vet googled Y's name, found out that he was a resident, and proceeded to speak in Medicine-ese and ignore me the rest of the visit.
4. The vet told us we had to take Ike's temp rectally every hour for the rest of the night, and I traded in my "THIS WAS YOUR FAULT card" and went to sleep.
And that's why you always
leave a note take out the trash.