A Hard Lesson in Canine Anatomy

A story that might make you laugh - in case you need that today.

An alarmingly bright red mound of innards was protruding from Brutus’s belly. My eyes stretched to the far corners of my face and my heart raced faster than Usain Bolt on a straightaway.

Something was very wrong with my dog, but whatever was attacking his gut was an unsolvable mystery for me. My medical knowledge was limited to what I learned during the first three seasons of Grey’s Anatomy and Cristina and Meredith must’ve waited until the eighth one to tackle canine stomach slime. 

I looked into Bru’s dark chocolate eyes, flooded with distress, and pleaded.

“I need you to hang in there, buddy. It’ll be okay. Just hang in there!”

I cradled his scraggly head in one hand and started dialing the emergency vet with the other.

I was certain Brutus’s death was imminent.

***

Brutus was my first dog – a schnauzer black as coal and sassy as a teenager. He was an aggressive snuggle buddy and the fiercest guard dog in Oregon. That 40-pound cuddle monster made sure everyone in a 10-mile radius knew they should get off his damn lawn.

But Brutus’s most defining quality was his undying love of food.

I discovered – mostly unintentionally – that there was not much in the food department that Bru wouldn’t eat. That dog was a nimble ninja with leftover scraps, fallen morsels, and any untended grub. No crumb on a countertop nor snack zipped into a pocket was safe when he was hungry – which was every minute of every day. I lost many canvas compartments and breakfast sandwiches to his ravenous scrounging. And Ian lost the butt of his burrito when Brutus emerged from below and snatched it in his jaws like a hungry shark.

Some dogs graze on food, Brutus inhaled. The only items he found unappetizing were undressed salad greens and raw mushrooms. He even developed a special bark for pizza boxes - which he knew contained his very favorite food to snack on.

Moments before the belly catastrophe erupted, I learned jelly beans were one of the many delicacies that Brutus enjoyed scarfing down. By the very large bagful.

This was definitely one of my unintentional discoveries. Those neon balls of chemicals have neither jelly nor beans in the ingredients and I wouldn’t expect a little pup to handle that cocktail of toxins. “Jelly beans?” More like, “Red Dye 40 beans.”

The Jelly Bean Massacre happened on a bluebird day while I was skiing with my friend Sarah at a local mountain. I brought Brutus along for the ride because snow was one of the many things he liked to inhale. It was an all-you-can-eat buffet of delicious powder all winter long. 

But while he was alone in the car as we went out for a few runs, Brutus served himself an Easter feast of sugar-coated chemicals.

In my defense, I’d warned Sarah to lock up any food with Fort-Knox-like protection before leaving little boy Bru alone in the car. In her defense, it’s possible she also questioned that jelly beans qualified as food for a little schnauzer.

After an hour or so, we took a break from skiing because I wanted to let Brutus go dashing through the snow – eating all the way. But when we opened the car door to let him out, Sarah discovered the empty bag of beans.

“Oops,” she squeaked, the scavenged package dangled from her hand like mangled roadkill.

“Shit!” I yelled.

I was a fairly new dog parent at the time, having added Brutus to my life through a relationship, and I was still learning a lot about dogs. But I most definitely intuited that candy is not what responsible canine owners feed their pups. I panicked, certain Brutus’s life was over. His Clue mystery would be solved with: Sarah in the parking lot with an “oops”.

I quickly turned to google, which is the very last resource you should consult if you want to stop panicking. Google promptly informed me that jellybeans top the list of candy that will DEFINITELY KILL YOUR DOG and that it was now illegal for me to even think about reproducing.

Meanwhile, Brutus was high on sugar, swaying around the parking lot like a drunken sailor.

I nervously scooped him into my backseat and started to pet his charcoal belly. My heart shattered as he flashed me his dark puppy eyes, swimming with pain from his massive sugar overdose.

“It will be okay, Bru, regardless of what Dr. Google says.” I was trying to reassure both of us.

As I was comforting him, something as unnatural as a jellybean caught my eye.

A bright red, slimy object was protruding from his belly. His stomach was exploding out of him!

The jellybeans had poisoned poor Brutus to the point where his innards and vital organs were oozing from his body.  

“SARAH! SOS! 911! EMERGENCY! CODE RED DYE 40!”

I frantically yelled for my friend’s help as I nervously eyed the slimy mess that was spilling from Bru. It was impossible to miss. Or look away.  A train wreck of scarlet against his midnight coat.

I got ready to fight for his life. My ski boots turned into unidentified flying objects across the parking lot. The number for the nearest emergency vet was plugged into my phone. And my credit card was out, ready to add the entirety of my savings account to the list of things Brutus will eat up.

Sarah sprinted over to the car after hearing my desperate cry. I tried to explain what I saw coming out of Bru. My words were muddled by all of my panic.

“His stomach! IT’S EXPLODING OUT OF HIS BODY.”

She looked horrified and confused. Sarah, a longtime dog mom, didn’t hesitate before starting to give Brutey a full body examination, confident as a primetime TV surgeon. She palmed his scraggly belly, rubbing her hands up, down and around his torso. She stuck her face underneath his stomach, searching for the alleged organ explosion. She found nothing. Then looked at me like I was crazy as glue.

“Emily, what are you talking about?”

“It was his stomach. HIS STOMACH WAS DEFINITELY EXPLODING OUT OF HIM. WE KILLED HIM WITH JELLY BEANS. It was red and slimy and organ-y!”

She looked at me again – looked back at Brutus who appeared to be perfectly normal – outside of being high as a kite on candy – and then looked back at me with dismay. She clearly thought I was nuts. Sarah just wanted to ski and I was busy hallucinating oozing organs splaying out of my dog. She took a deep breath and sighed.

Then a lightbulb went off above her blonde head. She started to giggle. Which struck me as an entirely insensitive reaction given the circumstances. We were about to have a dead schnauzer on our hands! My best friend was perishing in front of us and all Sarah could do was laugh?

“SARAH!” I yelled again.

“Emily, are you sure it wasn’t his…?” she paused, gestured to her crotch, her index finger wiggled up.

Turns out, I was definitely nuts. Brutus just got really excited about jelly beans. And I got a hard lesson in canine anatomy that day.

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