We always knew Haskell was a "special" dog...

What?

In case you were wondering, Haskell is officially not suited for life in the wild, life in the city or life anywhere except in our house on his bed.

Like there was any doubt, right?

Case in point: Let me tell you the latest "tail" of Haskell:

A couple of weeks ago, as in summers past, Haskell discovered the wonder and glory that is our fig tree. He is addicted to the sweet fruit and will gorge himself if left unattended. I think Haskell considers the fig to be his own personal "cookie" tree, and goes to great lengths to sneak a fig or two (or ten) when we aren't paying attention. And, just like whenever you get too much of a good thing, Haskell's sweet tooth resulted in a pretty bad case of doggie diarrhea. For two days we slept with the doggie door open, so Haskell could have round the clock access to the dog run. Not that this meant I was spared from Haskell coming to get me every two hours and waking me up. I'd like to think he just wanted his mommy. But there is the very real possibility that he never quite caught on to the fact that his doggie door was open all night.

Once I became aware of Haskell's intestinal distress, I made a concerted effort to KEEP him away from the fig tree for the foreseeable future. Which is quite the task considering how much mental and physical effort Haskell is willing to exert in order to obtain said figs.

(Haskell may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but that dog is surprising motivated when food is involved.)

Luckily, keeping Haskell away from the fig tree is normally as simple as closing and locking the dog run gate into the backyard.

Or so I thought.

Since Haskell's tummy was acting up, I wanted him to have access to the dog run during the day, so I left his doggie door open while I was at work. From the dog run, the closest Haskell can get to the fig tree is by looking longingly at it from the chain link dog run gate. That is unless the yard guys come for their weekly visit and forget to close and LOCK said dog run gate after they finish mowing. 99% of the time they remember, so it makes perfect sense that the one time they would forget would be a Wednesday that Haskell had abnormal daytime access to the dog run AND the fig tree was in full on fruit producing mode.

I don't even want to think about how many figs that little glutton consumed when no one was paying attention. You just know he couldn't believe his good fortune.

Of course, the unrestricted access to unlimited figs only served to exacerbate Haskell's diarrhea. Which, in turn, meant at least another night or two that I (not Trevor) would be woken up every so many hours by Haskell staring and squeaking at me. Not to mention all the fun I'd get to have cleaning up after a sick dog every morning. Luckily, we do have a hose in the dog run, but picking up after a dog (much less a SICK dog) is all the more difficult when you are pregnant and are hyper sensitive to smells (especially bad ones).

Good times, right?

(Groan)

About two or three hours after I returned home to discover the dog run gate unlocked and open, Haskell started to squeak from his doggie bed. I was sitting on the couch and assumed Haskell was telling me that his tummy was starting to act up. Except he acted like he didn't want to move when I encouraged him to head to the dog run. And when he finally did, he seemed a little stiff.

An hour later, the stiffness had turned into full on I've-fallen-and-I-can't-get-up doggie pain. Haskell literally couldn't seem to stand or move (much less walk), and I started to get worried. I Googled "dog + diarrhea + stiffness" and was met with a variety of websites encouraging me to drop everything and get Haskell to a vet. Pronto. Possible diagnoses ranged from pancreatitis to an intestinal obstruction to fecal impaction.

Not wanting to panic, I asked Trevor to call the emergency vet to see what they said about Haskell's symptoms. Unfortunately, the vet echoed Google's alarm.

So, at 10:30 PM we found ourselves on the way to the e-clinic across town. Haskell, by this time, had to be carried from his bed to the car.

It wasn't looking good.

The ride was made more or less in silence. I think Trevor and I were both considering what we were in for and fearing the worst. I, for one, was envisioning emergency surgery and weeks of recovery. Gypsy's ear had just been fixed after four months of surgery, vet visits and antibiotics, and here I was convinced that I was about to go through it all again with Haskell.

We arrived at the emergency vet and Trevor had to pick Haskell up to get him out of the car. Wanting to see if we could encourage him to walk, we put him down on the sidewalk and slowly managed to coax him into the clinic. It was a painfully slow process.

And this is where I would normally bore you with the details of the visit, but - really - I know you are on pins and needles with worry, right?

Sooooo long story short: Haskell's soreness and diarrhea were completely (and surprisingly) unrelated, and had nothing to do with an obstruction or kinked intestine.

You weren't expecting that were you? Neither were we.

Apparently, all the bending over and pooping took its toll on Haskell's back, and caused him to pinch a nerve.

That's right. My dog is so out of shape that excessive pooping lands him at the emergency vet.

So, basically, I lost an hour of precious sleep and paid for an $80 emergency vet visit on top of $60 tab for doggie narcotics because Haskell pinched a nerve taking a sh*t.

I swear, that dog never ceases to amaze me.