No More, Saturday Night

Last Saturday contained so much potential for the perfect day. It started early, at a local beach club sponsoring a morning off leash “Paws and Play” event. Dogs had reign of the grounds and were free to run, play, and swim as they pleased. There’s so few opportunities to let dogs be dogs here, so we let Huey run wild. And since the area was small, he wasn’t pestering other dogs or their humans, and we were enjoying conversation and coffee with friends, we let him roam without us helicoptoring.

Three hours of blissful beach time delivered us a very tuckered Labrador. With plans to meet our pals for all the meats, soju, and additional good hangs at Korean BBQ later, we parted ways.

But three hours later, we had a sick Labrador. Huey vomited, lazed around Mesh’s feet, then vomited some more. Wash. Repeat. He’d been rooting around in some fish scaled sand earlier and though we chased him away from it, he must have ingested enough of the rotten fish to get sick.

At 6 PM, instead of heading out for dinner, I was canceling plans and googling emergency vets. We found one nearby, a one room clinic attached to a tiny pet supply store, puppies included. RED FLAG. RED FLAG.

The kind, young vet hoisted Huey atop a chest height metal table. Mesh and I stood at his head, offering reassuring words and face scratches as he was given an anti-nausea and a blood sample was drawn. When the test came back normal, Huey was diagnosed with an upset tummy. No shit.

As if voicing his agreement, Huey proceeded to projectile vomit water all over his worried parents. Had it been more than water, my reaction would have been quite different. But the timing, the unexpectedness of being covered with a wave of the warm, undigested water was hilarious. Instead of increasing our concern, it broke some of the tension. Mesh and I, the vet too, broke into laughter. His straight faced and silent assistant handed me a handful of paper towel.

Without giving Huey any fluids (red flag), the vet sent us on our way with probiotics and instructions to monitor his symptoms. At home, we got him settled. He napped for a bit, but woke up with worsening symptoms. He was restless and refused to lie down or even sit. He stood uncomfortably behind the couch with nonstop drool leaking from his panting mouth. We found another emergency vet and headed there at 1:30 in the morning.

This vet did give Huey more antinausea meds and fluids (green flag) in an intravenous IV he hung from the hook of a product display in the reception area (red flag), Huey’s leg baring several bloody scars from where he couldn’t get the needle in (red flag). He somewhat made up for his poor aim by ordering X-Rays.

“So, I think we have an answer.” The vet reappeared in the lobby brandishing his computer, pointing at the black and white image on the screen. “His stomach is filled with what I think is sand.”

Mesh and I gaped at the picture showing Huey’s insides, his balloon shaped stomach and the coiling rope of his intestines, the former filled with a substance the X-Ray projected as a bright white mass. Sand? Considering his fish scaled snack earlier, that made sense. But still. How did he eat enough sand to fill the contents of his stomach?

What the hell, Huey?

“We have three options,” the vet told us. “I don’t have the equipment to do an endoscopy here, but you can go to an animal hospital tomorrow for one. You can wait and see if he’ll pass it. Or I can do surgery now.”

I shuddered thinking of Huey being cut open in this clinic, by this vet who missed his vein at least three times. We left holding a referral to an animal hospital that had the tools to scoop the sand out of his stomach and directions to go there, “first thing in the morning. The anti-nausea will only last twelve hours.”

Time was of the essence. The adage applied to more than just the Cerenia shot Huey received. Impacted bowels can be fatal and the sand packed in Huey’s gut was basically wet cement. Removing it while it was still in his stomach seemed like the safest option. If it started to travel into his intestines, how would he be able to pass it on his own? What if he did need surgery?

The situation would have been less worrisome had it happened in the US. Our two emergency vet trips proved that the quality of veterinary medicine here doesn’t come close to what is provided back home and neither is the pet culture. It was frightening to think of Huey having a major, life saving procedure in a hospital that was anything like these clinics. And honestly, considering how young and healthy Huey is, the quality of pet care wasn’t something that crossed my mind until this emergency.

The contents of Huey’s stomach were confirmed the next morning. From his butthole out poured a mound of sand. No poop. Straight up beach sand, which meant it had wormed its way into Huey’s intestine. Too late for an endoscopy stomach scooping, but would he be able to expel the rest of the load naturally. We were hopeful. Plus Huey woke up loving life, tongue and tail both wagging. With fingers crossed we left for the animal hospital.

And we were pleasantly surprised on arrival. Dr. Vet (cute name) is a newer animal hospital. It’s clean and massive and a grass covered, shaded dog park lines one entire side of the building. Staff were warm and welcoming. Huey was whisked away for more X Rays. Minutes later, we were shown the image of the sand in transit. Most of it had emptied from his stomach and into his intestines, but the third vet gave him a positive prognosis.

“I think he’ll be able to pass the sand on his own. He’s already started doing that. He can take laxatives and meds to coat the sand to help it pass easier. We’ll have him come back on Tuesday for another X-Ray just to see if all the sand is gone by then. If not, we can give him an enema.”

We left smiling. Relieved. Loaded with stomach meds and several heavy cans of gastrointestinal dog food and a dog filled, but now less filled, with sand. Over the next few days he continued to dump more, and his X Ray on Tuesday showed a GI tract clear of all beach dirt.

Huey’s emergency was by far the most awful and stressful thing we’ve experienced since moving to the UAE, and a scary and expensive lesson to learn. Labs will eat anything, ANYTHING, but we never would have thought he’d consume sand. We don’t want to not bring Huey to the beach. He loves it. We love taking him. Friends actually invited us to join them today at a dog friendly beach two hours away. Mesh had to spend the weekend working, but I debated joining them solo with Huey. I ended up taking a raincheck. I’m all about getting back on the horse, but I don’t want our first visit back to be as a single parent. He needs more vigilant eyes than mine alone, at least in the beginning.

But that lovely little dog park, the one attached to Dr. Vet. We never would have known it was there if Huey hadn’t eaten all that sand. There’s so few off leash play places in this city, and Dr. Vet’s is the nicest one I’ve seen so far. Because you gotta take your wins wherever you can, whenever you can, I’m going to silver line last weekend’s shittiness with that. Can’t wait to take him back to play under better circumstances.