JACKSON CLARENCE
GETTING INTO TROUBLE IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD
It was just another sunny afternoon when Jack, our adventurous little pup, decided to push the limits of his freedom. We were lounging on the deck, enjoying the weather, when we realized we hadn’t seen Jack in a while. Typical Jack, slipping away when we weren’t looking to explore the neighborhood.
At first, we didn’t worry too much. We figured he was probably just around the corner, digging up some new discovery. We called out, “Jack, Jack, want a treat?” but there was no response. Casually, we checked around the house, thinking he’d come sauntering back on his own time. Little did we know, our mischievous boy was off getting himself into quite the predicament.
When Jack finally came home, he looked unusually pleased with himself, his coat smeared with something white and doughy. What had he gotten into this time? As he approached us, seeking the usual forgiveness for running off, we noticed something was very off. He was wobbling, his eyes unfocused. He tried to bark, but it came out as a garbled mess. Then he began to vomit, expelling long strands of soft, white stuff like a canine magician performing a bizarre trick.
“What in the world did you eat, Jack?” I wondered aloud, grabbing some paper towels. The answer hit us like a ton of bricks: his breath reeked of vodka. This wasn’t just any stomach upset—this was serious.
It turned out Jack had found his way to the neighbor’s deck and helped himself to a batch of raw bread dough left out to rise. Inside his warm stomach, the dough had fermented, turning Jack into a walking, barking distillery. His belly was so swollen it looked like he’d swallowed a beach ball, and you couldn’t even see his privates anymore. He was bloated, drunk, and stumbling like a sailor on shore leave.
Panicking, we rushed Jack to the vet, who confirmed our worst fears: Jack was intoxicated from the fermented dough, and now alcohol poisoning was the concern. There was nothing the vet could do to help Jack at this point. He could not induce vomiting because it was too dangerous trying to regurgitate rising dough. He said he could keep him for observation overnight, but there was no other option than to wait it out. So, we took our boy home to wait it out.
We took turns staying up with Jack through the night, each moment filled with worry. We would shake him awake, get him up to “walk” (even though we were the ones moving his legs), and do anything we could think of to keep him from trying to sleep it off. He gave us a few scares, but by morning he was fine… still groggy, looking both confused and perhaps, a bit guilty. He reeked like he’d had a rough night on the town. We decided then and there that Jack’s days of unsupervised roaming were over, at least for a while.
In the end, no harm, no foul. Jack spent the rest of the week lying low, avoiding eye contact, clearly nursing a hangover. The neighbor never discovered who confiscated her dough, and we got to see our mischievous Jack live to chase another day.
(From the June 2024 Issue of THE ORGANIZER MAN MONTHLY)