On Monday night while I was at kickboxing, Lucy stumbled upon and opened a bottle of Mucinex. Chad came home about an hour after I left to an open bottle and six pills scattered on the upstairs rug.
We weren't totally sure that she'd had any of them - after all, knowing Lucy, if she ate one she'd eat 'em all - but after the ibuprofen incident a few years ago we learned our lesson on how toxic some medicines are for dogs. So we called the animal poison control hotline. (Of course our vet had already closed for the evening. Murphy's Law says that dogs never have an "incident" when the vet is actually open.)
The folks on the phone took all the info on Lucy, what she - potentially - got into and how much, and tried to understand if she was acting any different (she wasn't). Then they had us induce vomiting which, let's just say, was not a fun experience for any of us. Since she didn't yak up any pills (too much information, I know), we inferred that she probably didn't eat any of them and decided not to take her to the emergency animal hospital.
The poison control folks recommended that we "monitor" Lucy ourselves for the apparently critical four-hour window when she could start to go downhill. Pay special attention for any signs of agitation, they said.
What kind of agitation, we asked?
Well, the woman said, any signs of hyperactivity - inability to sit still, constantly wanting to play or run around, pacing, or getting up and changing positions often when she's sleeping.
We gave each other a look. I stifled a laugh. Chad paused before responding to our new poison control friend, who obviously did not know Lucy well: "I did say she's a Lab, right?"
And, by the way, she's going to be fine. Again.
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