The Bad Kind of Charcoal

It is another mild, pleasant evening in Iowa. Asher is not going to sleep, so Sarah is upstairs listening to music with him. I'm down at the computer reading all about Sarah Palin. Today was a rough day around our house. This morning, I gradually awoke to an odd noise. It was a plasticy popping noise, like somebody smashing a drink cup. It was comng from under the bed. I reached down, and discovered Rosie the puppy, chewing on an open, well-chewed bottle of dog aspirin, the last remaining pill stuck to the bottom with puppy slobber. "Umm.....how many aspirin did Libby have left?" I asked apprehensively to Sarah, who was getting ready in the bathroom. The answer was 6-10, and this was a serious problem, according to the pill bottle. We took Rosie on her first trip to the vet shortly after they opened at seven this morning. She spent the whole day there. They gave her a morphine shot, induced vomiting, filled her stomach with activated charcoal, and kept her on an IV all afternoon to make sure her kidneys were working right. She seems to be doing fine now, though. She has a shaved patch on her leg from the IV, and our figurative wallets are 350 bucks lighter, but everything is fine. She is also now up-to-date on her shots, so that is good. We are watching her closely to make sure all of the ink-black charcoal works it's way out, preferably not inside the house. We don't have many plans for the long weekend. Sarah's parents are stopping by tomorrow from Omaha, where they are in town for a wedding. It will be good to see them!