The King

We almost lost the King this week, Mr. Elvis the King, that is—one of our beloved beagles.  He had a nasty run in with one of the dangers of living in the county.

Mr. Elvis the King in his "hardhat" (actually a facemask).

Our home sits on piers so it is a good 3 or 4 feet off the ground leaving quite a bit of room underneath for furry friends (and vermin) to run around.  Additionally, we are surrounded by pastures, which critters love to inhabit as well.  Referencing a previous post regarding the formerly rat-filled trailer and the rat nest discovered under the old bathtub, there is plenty of evidence of unwelcomed rodents on our 9 acres.  To combat this issue (and because above all other critters, my husband hates rats the most), there was quite a lot of rat poison tossed underneath the house to try to get a jump on things.  The crawlspace had been pretty well sealed off for animals the size of our dogs (20-30 pounds), but then construction started.

Long story, short: the dogs must have gotten under the house and partaken of some rat poison.  We notice Elvis was feeling out of sorts—a little sluggish for him is like lethargic for any other dog.  He didn’t seem to have much of an appetite and looked uncomfortable going up and down the front steps.  I decided to keep an eye on him for the morning (the same morning our piers were being dug) before I called the vet.  After all, they are beagles and eat nearly anything in sight, edible or not.  Sometimes they get a tummy ache that some Tums will take care of.  This was not that. 

Again to keep things short (and not too gross)… He ended up losing a lot of blood—nearly all of it I’d say.  And he lost it all on my entry way floor.  Child #1 discovered it.  Child #3 came to check out the commotion and screamed bloody murder.  Child #2, my future vet, remained calm while I gave the floor a quick clean-up and then went with me as we rushed the King to the vet.  He was completely out of it and as pale as a tricolor beagle can be.

Although we now live in a small town, we have two good vet clinics in town, one of which is quite a large practice and cares for animals of all sizes.  They took Elvis back immediately and found that his body temp was about 5 degrees below normal at which point the doc told me that saving our canine friend was going to be expensive.  He said this with a seriousness that scared me a little because really, isn’t a trip to the vet always expensive?  If he’s saying this is going to be expensive, it must really be something.  I asked for a ballpark figure.  He gave me a number and then asked if I still wanted to go ahead with treatment.  He asked this as my 11-year-old stood right by my side hugging on her beloved pet.  I didn’t think that was very fair.  How could I say no (even though I watched ski trips and renovations flash before my eyes as I considered the drain this would be on our bank account)?  But of course, I do love the King and couldn’t imagine our home without him, so I gave the doc the go ahead.  They whisked him away and told us they would update us later in the day.

We went back to visit Elvis later that afternoon.  He was stable but definitely out of it.  He normally lives up to the words of his namesake: he ain’t nuthin’ but a hound dog cryin’ all the time.  He’s very, very vocal.  He barely made eye contact with us that afternoon, but they assured us that he was making progress after his blood transfusion.  He had improved by leaps and bounds by the following afternoon, and we were allowed to bring him home.  He howled with glee when he saw us this time, so much so that the entire vet clinic staff came in to see what was going on.  As we walked him out, the staff proudly declared that Elvis had left the building.

Elvis still needed several days to recover from the blood loss and was always cold, so the kids kept his favorite blanket handy for him at all times.