Yesterday, Artie started pooping blood.

It started off like a normal day, Artie body slammed the bed around 9am, chased the cats downstairs and waited for me to roll my lazy bones into some clothes and down the stairs. While I stumbled around the bathroom, he danced in anxious circles around my feet waiting for the magic words – wanna go bye bye?

The walk seemed normal enough. He treed a few squirrels, chased a cat or two over a fence and tried to eat a couple of gardeners. About ten minutes into the walk, he assumed the squat position. Like a dutiful owner, I always bring a bag. When he was done, I scooped and we continued on our way. We only got another block before he was doing the hunching hieny again. This time, it was the runs. While I watched and contemplated whether or not to try and pick up that mess, I saw the blood. It wasn’t too much but it was noticeable. I decided to turn around a call the vet ‘cause I wasn’t going to take any chances. One more block and he went back into squat mode. Only this time, there was no poop, only a flow of mucus and blood. A lot of blood.

So by now, I’m panicking. We sprint home and I call the vet. It’s 10am and the first opening they have isn’t until 2:45. The next four hours were the longest hours of my life. The hardest part was that Artie seemed so fine. We was spatting with the cats over who got the sofa, snorking his food, and sleeping with his head resting in my lap just like always.

Now, I have never had a dog of my own before so this whole pooping blood thing really had me scared. In those four hours, I had convinced myself that he had some sort of inoperable intestinal cancer and would have to be put to sleep immediately. Just the idea of having to go through out the day without my dog, well, it was like someone stabbed an icicle in my heart.

You see, Artie has really turned into my best friend since I’ve started staying home. He’s my morning alarm clock, my exercise buddy, my lunch date and gardening pal. He follows me from room to room while I work on my crazy projects and reminds me to take a break and smell the roses. He’s my doorbell and security alarm. He’s, well, he’s really my shadow. I mean, right now he’s wedged under my feet snoring away. There are better places to sleep in this house than under the computer desk, but since that’s were I am, that’s where he’ll be too.

So it was with great trepidation that I loaded him into the car and drove to see the doctor (who was pretty cute by the way). He ran some tests and listened to his belly and told me that no, my dog was not dying from intestinal cancer. He merely had an upset tummy. Probably ate some cat poop or drank some bad rainwater. Just put him on a bland diet of rice and cottage cheese for a week and he’ll be as good as new.

I was astounded and relived. He’s always drinking stagnant rainwater and eating gross stuff so I’m not too surprised. The vet gave us some pills and sent us home, very relieved.

Today, the walk went great. Treed a squirrel, barked at a kid, tried to eat a mini-poodle, and had a nice blood free poop. Looks like the fat sausage is going to live after all. Oh yes, during the weight in, he was a whopping 96 lbs. At his rate, I may have to change his name to enormous sausage.