Buy me some peanuts and CrackerJacks...

The ongoing saga of Arrow continues. Last week, the dog was acting sort of puny again so we went back to the vet. More x-rays were taken on Tuesday and Wednesday and it appears that he's eaten something else. The vets' best guess, a pacifier.

Now, here's the thing, I count the pacifiers. I have ever since the dog's surgery. Out of severe paranoia that he'll eat one. I don't think it's a pacifier, but regardless, there's something in there.

The vet and I had several discussions and decided the best course of action to prevent the dog from eating himself to death is Prozac. Yes, doggy Prozac. I now have a designer dog that requires mood-altering drugs. I wrestled with this decision for a long time. With the baby almost to the point of throwing things and Arrow's constant need for attention that has turned into self-destructive behavior it really seemed the best solution. I still don't like it, but I'm trying to do the best thing for everyone.

On to interesting twist number 3.

Two evenings ago between changing the baby, and feeding the baby, and getting ready for bed, I misplaced a pacifier. We tore the house apart. We looked everywhere. We questioned my sanity. I reiterated the fact that I count the pacifiers. I know for a fact that one of the Avent ones is missing. It's clear with a white handle that glows in the dark. It's one of 3 like that. It is simply gone. The only conclusion? That I left it somewhere the dog could reach and he ate it. I feel positively ill. How could I let this happen?

The next day I kept the dog glued to my side. I looked for signs of him acting sick. I looked for him sniffing out the hidden pacifier from under a chair that I missed. I looked for everything. No joy.

Today, similar day. Dog by my side. He seems fine, but still no sign of the missing sucky. I'm becoming more distraught thinking of the further damage to my dog's insides. I'm thinking of the amounts of money we'll need to continue to spend. I'm thinking that the vet will probably take my dog away from me, or that if we get through this I will have to give the dog away. I just can't keep my hands on all things baby and away from Arrow at all times and stay sane.

This evening Aidan and I had a night out with some of the family and left Andy and Arrow at home for a little guy time.

On the way to dinner I got a phone call. Expecting a question about where something was, or some sort of emergency I answered. Andy asked "Where did you get these special Doritos?" Huh? was the only thing I could think to say. "You know, these special Doritos with the prize inside?" Again I have no idea what he's talking about. "Didn't you buy the special bags? You know? Each one comes with a free pacifier."

Oh Thank God! The pacifier got lumped into the bag of Doritos we'd been snacking on. Somehow it got scooped up with the bag and rolled in. It's not in the dog's stomach, I'm not losing my mind. I might be able to keep my shit together after all.