The Towel-Eating Dog Story

Here's the whole story about how Hattie became the Towel-Eating Dog:

On February 13, 2009, Doug and I took the dogs for a walk.  It had been raining all day, but the dogs needed to do their business, so we tried to go out when there was a lull in the rainfall.  When we came back inside, the dogs were wet from both puddles and the rain.  After drying them off as best as we could, they were still slightly damp.  We felt bad for them, so we put towels in their crates with them so that the girls could cuddle up and get warm.  They were older towels and the one that was put in with Hattie had frayed edges.  Apparently, overnight, Hattie tore some of the towel apart.  We collected all of the pieces, but since it was scraps, we didn't try putting it back together to find out if there was any missing.  Hattie seemed fine, so Doug and I went about our business, going out for Valentine's Day and not giving it a second thought.

When we came home from church on February 15, Hattie was happy to see us and acted like nothing was wrong.  A little while later, while we were watching football, Hattie threw up.  In the vomit was a piece of the towel.  When I tried to go grab the piece out of the vomit, she ate it back up.  Gross, I know.  Because she had eaten a sock earlier in the week and passed it in its entirety, I wasn't really worried about the piece of towel.

By Monday (the following day), Hattie wasn't really eating and what she did eat wasn't staying down.  That evening, I gave her rice to try to calm her stomach.  Bad idea.  On Tuesday morning, about 4am, she woke me up with a cry that I could tell meant she was in pain.  It was such a pitiful cry, I felt so bad for her.  I went to her crate and she had thrown up what looked to be a few gallons of bile, rice, water, etc.  Later that morning, I took her to the vet.  They gave me medicine and told me to keep an eye on her and bring her back on Friday if she wasn't any better.  That evening, she pooped, so I thought, ok, maybe she just needed to move everything through her system. 

All day Wednesday and Thursday morning, Hattie didn't seem to be getting better, but she wasn't getting worse either.  She was keeping the medicine and food down, but she hadn't pooped.  We had planned on going to Florida for the weekend, so we were trying to decide whether or not to stay or go ahead with our plans.  I decided to call the vet on Thursday afternoon to get their opinion.  (There is a branch of the vet in Florida, where we would be, in case she needed care.)

Two side notes about the previous paragraph:
1) Doug and I had gone to Olive Garden for Valentine's Day and I called them to make a reservation.  For whatever reason, it was towards the top of my "previously dialed numbers", and when I went to call the vet, I called OG by accident.  I didn't hear the greeting when someone answered, so I just began telling the person about what was going on.  "Hey, this is Ellery ______ and I brought my Great Dane, Hattie, in on Tuesday.  She hasn't pooped since Tuesday and I'm a little worried."  About that time, the poor girl on the other end of the phone said, "Um, ma'am? You called Olive Garden."  Well, I guess she didn't really care that my dog had bowel issues then, huh?
2) My mom had planned a surprise bridal shower for me to coincide the weekend that Doug and I would be in Florida.  When my mom found out about Hattie's predicament, she started sweating bullets that we were going to stay in Alabama and the "bride" for which the bridal shower was for would be MIA.  Therefore, she told Doug to keep her apprised of whether or not we were coming. 

When I called the vet, she told me that it was fine if we took Hattie to Florida, but just keep an eye on her and if she gets any worse, take her to the vet ASAP.  If she is still the same by Monday, bring her back in when you return from Florida.  So, I put her and put Waveland, who at that point was only about 10 weeks old, in the car and started to leave the apartment to pick Doug up from work and get on the road.  Before we ever left the apartment's parking lot, Hattie started heaving.  I put the garbage can under her mouth and she barfed in it.  I cried the entire 45 minutes to Doug's work because I was so stressed about what was wrong with my dog.  I was still not thinking the towel could have gotten stuck, because it was such a small piece.  The rest of the 12 hour drive, Hattie slept and didn't get sick again.

Doug and I went somewhere on Friday, while leaving Hattie at my parents' house.  When we got back, my mom told me that Hattie was acting very lethargic and her gums were pale white.  We immediately took Hattie to the vet.  After several tests, it was determined that she had a blockage and that if she was not operated on in the next 24 hours, she would die and even with the surgery, they couldn't guarantee that she'd make it.  Because the blockage had been going on for almost a week, her intestines may be dead or dying.  I felt like SUCH a horrible parent that I let her be in pain and sick this long.  The doctor told us that she must be in INCREDIBLE pain, but she was being very stoic and not showing any signs of pain, even in her belly.  They told us to bring her back the following morning to have the surgery, that they told us should only take "a couple hours".

Doug and I spent the night holding Hattie's legs down, so that she wouldn't curl up.  We discovered when she curled up, she was cutting off circulation and that's why her gums were turning white.  The next morning, we took her into the vet, not knowing if we were going to see her again.  We then went to Doug's parents' house and crashed on the couch, since neither of us had slept the night before and his parents' house was closer to the vet.  When we called a few hours later, Hattie was still in surgery. 

Unbeknownst to me, this was also the day of my bridal shower and therefore, Doug had very strict instructions to keep me away from my parents' house until it was time.  All I wanted to do is go cry on my mom's shoulder because she knew how much Hattie meant to me.  Obviously, we couldn't do that, so Doug found other things we could do to keep my mind off of Hattie.

On the way to the bridal shower, some 4 hours into the surgery, we stopped by the vet's.  Because I had previously worked at that vet, they let me in the back to see her, while she was being operated on.  It broke my heart to see her like she was.  I was sad we had to leave, but according to Doug, my mom had planned for Doug's mother and grandmother, my mother and myself to all go out to lunch, so we needed to get going.

About 2 hours after we left the vet, and in the middle of my bridal shower, one of the nurses called to tell me that the surgery was over (finally!) and Hattie was recovering well.  That really cheered me up and allowed me to enjoy my bridal shower.  Her surgery ended up taking 6 hours and parts of both her small and large intestine were removed due to necrosis.

When we picked her up, we saw that she was cut from her sternum to her crotch, which on a Great Dane is about a 3 foot scar.  She was on strict rest, was given tons of medication and a lampshade collar to keep her from messing with the sutures.  Because we lived upstairs, and she was definitely not allowed to climb stairs, my mom volunteered to keep Hattie while she recovered.  My mom made "medical meatballs" (wet dog food balls with pills stuck in the middle), which Hattie loved.  She didn't like wearing the collar or not being able to run around a lot. 

Two weeks later, we returned to Florida to pick Hattie up and to take her to the vet to have the sutures removed.  Everything looked great and Hattie had made a full recovery.  When we took her back to Alabama, she was back to her normal self, running around with Waveland and being a general goof.

We learned our lesson.  Now, the dogs don't get towels in their crates.  We dry them off as best as we can and then they get in their crates.

And THAT, my friends, is how Hattie earned the moniker "The Towel-Eating Dog".