"Hey, doc, I got a question for ya. I ate some dog medicine, and I just need to know if it's gonna kill me." These were the
words I was greeted with first thing Wednesday morning at the hospital. And coming from Butchee, those words made me laugh.
But he didn't see the humor in it. In fact, his face was twisted up a bit with worry.
Bo Brock DVM
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Butchee's a big man, getting close to 50 and a hardworking farmer. I've known him for 20 years. He has a dog named Gator who
shares every mile and moment with him. Gator is a big yellow lab that's getting a little old.
Butchee's wife had brought Gator into the clinic on Monday, and my associate Dr. Dustin McElwee had dispensed some NSAIDs
for ol' Gator to combat the aches and pains that come from running around as a farm dog for nine years. Dustin told her to
put the pill in a piece of cheese or a meatball and Gator would just eat it up.
Crossing species at the kitchen counter
When Mrs. Butchee got home that evening, she was delighted to find a few of the meatballs from Sunday dinner in the fridge.
Perfect—Dr. McElwee had said to use a meatball and she just happened to have seven left.
Mrs. Butchee took one out and poked a pill into it. She was about to take it to Gator when her mother called on the phone.
Mrs. Butchee rushed out to help her mom do something right then, leaving one spiked meatball and six normal meatballs sitting
on the counter.
A little while later, Butchee came home after a hard day's work and saw seven meatballs just begging to be eaten. He did.
When Mrs Butchee came home, she forgot all about the dog pain pills and the meatballs. Besides, Butchee had cleaned up the
mess, so there was nothing to remind her.
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