Does the title make your mouth water just a little? Mine too. But for a different reason.
If you’re Canadian, the combination of chocolate and raisins might make you think of Glosettes, those tasty little chocolate-covered raisins that Nollind loves. But, me? I think of … ugh … peroxide.
When T turned fifty, Nollind organized this big barn party for her, complete with a massive chocolate cake that he baked and made into a big five zero. What a guy, right? Anyway, to make a cake that size and shape involved baking more than one cake, cutting them apart, and then arranging the pieces. Any cut-offs not needed for the five zero got dumped into the garbage along with a bunch of other post-party rubbish.
The day after the party, Nollind had to fly back to Winnipeg where he was working on a building renovation. He and T rushed out the door for the airport, leaving the garbage bag in the kitchen, untied and accessible to a dog who loves anything resembling food, sweets being no exception. I gorged myself on chocolate cake.
Face stuffed in the bag, eating as fast as I could, I didn’t even notice they’d come right home. Nollind had forgotten something.
Panic ensued. As you probably know, dogs shouldn’t eat chocolate. It’s delicious, but toxic in quantity.
Needing to make a plane, they loaded me in the car with them and T got on the phone with the vet. Peroxide was the remedy. Five ml or one teaspoon of peroxide for every five pounds of me. In all the excitement, by the time they’d stopped at a pharmacy for peroxide and a syringe, the numbers were a little fuzzy and they gave me ten mils total. I didn’t like it much, but felt fine, walking around, sniffing the edges of the Shoppers Drug Mart parking lot. They waited. Nothing. And Nollind still needed to get to the airport.
A call to the vet cleared up the error. They needed to shoot another forty mils down my throat. The result was nearly instantaneous, a considerable pile of soggy, partially chewed birthday cake. I haven’t eaten chocolate since. Although, crazy as it may sound, not by my choice.
Fast forward to 2021 and a road trip from T’s hometown of Fort St John last week. We stopped an hour into our day-long drive for breakfast at Tim Horton’s in Dawson Creek. If you’ve been reading my blog, you’ll know how much I love Tim’s and their plain Timbits, and I always get at least one when we stop. They didn’t have plain Timbits, so T got a whole donut to last me the day, and got herself a raisin bran muffin as a snack for down the road when the Farmer’s Wrap had worn off.
Ten minutes down the road in Pouce Coupe, we pulled in to fuel up the car. I’m not normally a front seat scavenger when I’m in the backseat, but T left that tasty muffin sitting within easy reach. I couldn’t resist. I’d always wanted to try one, and she is terribly stingy with them.
When T returned to the car after prepaying, there I was, chomping down the muffin and wrapper.
Who knew dogs can’t eat raisins? Well, T for one. She was on her phone Googling the info and we were backtracking to Dawson Creek for, you guessed it, peroxide and a syringe.
This time there was no mistaking the amount and fifty mils went down my throat, ten mils at a time. Yuck! It is the most disgusting, foamy experience if you’ve never tried it. And I highly don’t recommend.
But, unlike the chocolate cake experience, this time I didn’t vomit right away, not even after ten minutes. If it meant not getting any more, I would have been happy to oblige, but I just didn’t feel that sick. We were hanging out under a shade tree at the edge of the Wal-Mart parking lot, where I sniffed around, ate a few blades of grass, and was ready to climb back in the air-conditioned car.
T called our vet in Strathmore to ask what was next and was told that if fifty mils didn’t do it, more probably wouldn’t either. Well, that was good news. I certainly didn’t want more. While the vet tech put T on hold to look something up, T did a little of her own research. Apparently, giving the dog’s stomach a little mix and shake can help the process.
So, she put her hands under my belly and did just that. From there, it didn’t take long. I could feel it happening, the peroxide foaming in my stomach, my mouth watering, that building urge to heave. What came out first was a big ball of foam, the peroxide. The second round produced the tasty muffin and wrapper I’d scored from the front seat of the car, still looking a lot like it had when I’d eaten/swallowed it, mostly intact and undigested.
T was much happier with the result than I was, but a drink of water and a few treats put things right and we were on our way again, now an hour behind schedule, homeward bound. According to the vet tech when she came back on the line, some dogs have no issues with raisins but to others they can be toxic, even fatal, so I was well to be rid of them.
What I didn’t tell T, and never will, is that I scored an oatmeal raisin cookie once and I was just fine.