It’s quite ironic that after all the times I found Mojo in the garbage, I almost killed the dog by my own hand. Last Thursday I made the molasses, honey and Dijon mustard-glazed pork roast that Nicky and I like. There were a couple of large bones left, so I gave them to the dogs, as I often do.
I know not to give chicken or other sharp bones to them, but I honestly thought a heavy bone like that would be fine. The next morning Mojo ate her breakfast, then threw up. The vomiting continued for hours, as did alarming bouts of diarrhea. By 2:00 PM I said to Nicky I had to take Mojo in to the vet.
By the time I got the listless mutt to the vet it turned out she was massively dehydrated, near death, and had to be put on intravenous immediately. They said they’d have to X ray her stomach to see if there was a blockage from the pork bone. I felt absolutely horrible as I drove home.
I prayed to God to save the dog, and said, “I don’t care how much it costs, just don’t let the dog die.” Fortunately, God answered my prayers in both ways. The dog survived, and I received a massive bill! Can you believe that moment of stupidity cost me $900?
Oh well, that’s what money’s for, eh? Now I know never to give a bone of any kind to any dog, ever, so that’s worth something. I’ve already told a couple of dog owners about it, and they thanked me, as they were also in the ‘who knew?’ category of giving bones to dogs. It seems so wolf-like, but I guess not.
Luke arrived home without any prior announcement, and it was great to see him. However, I’d already booked a demo at the Quality Greens in Vernon so just said hi and bye and drove off in a fury. I could only do two hours there because by then my feet were absolutely frozen solid. I don’t know how the cashiers stand it.
Today Luke has big plans for the two of us to go to Costco and shop like we’re Conrad and Barbara Black. I’ve already bought boxes of Indian and Mexican frozen appetizers, but he wants lashings more of everything. As he’s found his fame and fortune as a directional drill technician in the oil fields, he’s offered to pay for it all, and I’m going to allow him to do so.
The nice food writer, Eric Akis, e mailed me with a question about fruitcake which was sent to him from one of his readers. He said if I helped him with the answer he’d mention my fruitcakes in his column so I hope he does. I actually had to Google the question as it concerned the safety of eating a 25-year-old frozen fruitcake. The general consensus is that it is still edible!
So what a week it’s been, filled with expensive, yet important new bits of knowledge. Dogs can die quite easily, but fruitcakes appear to be immortal. They’ll go on and on and on, until some archaeologist finds them down the road and wonders.