For Canine Use Only

I was in my room when I heard Anastasia screaming at the top of her lungs. It was that frantic, ear-piercing terrify-your-mother-why don't-you kind of screaming.

'YOU CAN'T EAT THAT! YOU'RE NOT A CANINE!'

She was bent over our little sheltie dog, hands shaking the poor thing like there was no tomorrow. Then she swiftly lifts her up in an attempt to perform what looked like a modified Heimlich Maneuver for dogs. Matilda's eyes  search out mine and plead for me to intervene.

'Honey, why are you yelling at Matilda? Please put her down.' I demand.

'NO MOM! SHE ATE MEDICINE FOR CANINES ONLY! SHE'S GONNA DIE!' Anastasia continues to attempt the Heimlich as I try to gently extricate Matilda from her arms.

'Honey, what are you talking about?'  I'm confused. I now hold a traumatized furball in my arms.

'LOOOOK!!!' My daughter thrusts a chewed open heartworm med capsule into my face. 'SHE ATE IT ALREADY SO WE HAVE TO GET HER TO THE HOSPITAL NOW!

'Honey. it's okay that she ate that. It's her heartworm medication.'

'NO MOM! SHE'S NOT A CANINE, SHE'S A SHELTIE! SHE'S GONNA DIE!!!'

My daughter falls to the floor in a flood of tears and grief-stricken moaning. I put the dog down and try to comfort her.

'Honey, it's okay. Canine is just another word for dog. This is medicine for a dog. All dogs take it. She's not going to die. She is really ok.' (Well, Matilda might beg to differ. She has already run for her life and hidden herself under my bed at this point.) I rub my daughter's back. I try to soothe her.

The news starts to sink in for my little drama queen. She finally stands up and walks over to the empty single medication capsule on the floor. She reads it slowly, mouthing out the words. Then, she throws the thing with great gusto across the room.

'STUPID, STUPID IDIOTS! WHY did they put that STUPID SCARY MESSAGE on the box?'

Yes, honey, why did they put 'for canine use only' on the box? Shame on them.

Twenty minutes later I find her cuddling/coddling poor Matilda in a tight semi-chokehold of blankets in her bed. She is stroking her and speaking in hushed, motherly tones.

'I'm sooooo sorry you almost died, Honey...soooo sorry. That will NEVER happen again, honey...never ever.....'

Matilda looks up at me with a look of plaintive desperation: Help? 


Poor thing.

Does the drama NEVER end?