The Great Watermelon Blow Pop Emergency
A picture and poem once caused a small rescue emergency.
There once was a Wolfhound guy
Right by Mom’s feet he would lie.
If you asked him he’d say,
“I haven’t eaten all day —
And if I don’t eat right now, I will die!”
A few years ago, I posted this poem with a picture of Shamrock sprawled dramatically on the ground.
There once was a Wolfhound guy
Right by Mom’s feet he would lie.
If you asked him he’d say,
“I haven’t eaten all day —
And if I don’t eat right now, I will die!”
One of my friends, who works in rescue, immediately commented:
“WHERE IS HE?????”
I said, completely confused:
“Where is who?”
My friend:
“THE DOG — WHERE IS IT?!!”
Me:
“At my house sleeping — why?”
She replied:
“OMG, I thought you found a dying dog!”
I had to explain that no… this was my dog… at home… being theatrical.
She then said:
“I thought he looked awfully fat to be almost dead!”
Which, to be fair, he was.
At the time, Shamrock was pushing 200 pounds and actually on a diet. He outweighed my vet by about 50 pounds and was already on two doses of heartworm medication. I had even been told that if he reached 201 pounds, he’d need a third.
What the photo did NOT capture was the full performance.
First came the paw-whacking.
That was the opening argument:
Excuse me, ma’am. I would like to file a complaint.
When that failed, he flopped over like he’d been shot and began slowly paddling his front feet back and forth while making sad, moaning noises like he was suffering from actual hunger pains.
His internal monologue was clearly:
Mother has denied me food. I shall now expire…
…directly on her feet.
What terrible thing had happened?
I would not give him my lollipop.
That was it.
Denied candy.
Instant collapse.
Full tragedy.
Or, as Shamrock himself might have said:
Very well. I die.
Paw… paw… moooooan…
“Mother… tell Dad I loved him…”
slow paddle
“…tell Copper he may have my things…”
Cars began slowing down as they passed the house - because unfortunately for me, Shamrock had chosen to perform his death scene outside.
Where people could SEE HIM.
Shamrock, internally:
Excellent. We have witnesses.
Apparently the sight of a nearly 200-pound Irish Wolfhound lying dramatically in the yard while his heartless mother sat nearby eating a lollipop raised some questions.
Then a woman slowed down and started recording us.
Shamrock, presumably:
Excellent. The press has arrived.
At that point, I cracked.
Fine.
The dying dog could have some of my watermelon Blow Pop.
And would you believe it?
IT WAS A MIRACLE.
The terminal hunger pains vanished.
The moaning ceased.
The weakened limbs were restored.
Shamrock rose from his deathbed and began happily prancing around the yard with a Blow Pop stick hanging out of his mouth.
Apparently, watermelon has remarkable restorative properties.
Unfortunately, I now had another problem.
Justin could not find out that I had given the dog a lollipop.
He was busy working around the yard and hadn't seen any of it.
So every time Shamrock started wandering in Justin's direction, I suddenly became an unusually affectionate mother.
“SHAMROCK! COME HERE! GIVE MAMA KISSES!”
And back he'd come.
Big happy face.
Watermelon breath.
More kisses.
A little while later, he'd start wandering toward Justin again.
“SHAMROCK! COME HERE! GIVE MAMA KISSES!”
This went on for more than an hour.
I wasn't being affectionate.
I was running damage control.
All I needed was for the watermelon evidence to dissipate before Shamrock breathed anywhere near his father.
Eventually, I figured enough time had passed.
The suspect was cleared to reenter the general population.
Shamrock wandered over and parked himself directly in front of Justin.
Justin leaned toward him.
“Wow! Your breath smells so good. Whatcha eat?”
From across the yard, I immediately yelled:
“NOTHING! ABSOLUTELY NOTHING!”
There was a pause.
Justin hadn't accused me of anything.
He hadn't even asked me a question.
So naturally I followed up my completely normal and not-at-all-suspicious response with:
“SHAMROCK! LET'S GO FOR A WALK!”
And that is the part of the story I apparently decided not to tell when I originally posted this photo.
Somewhere out there is a rescue worker who once thought I had discovered a dying dog.
Somewhere else may be a woman with video evidence of what appeared to be the neglect of a starving Irish Wolfhound.
And somewhere in the middle of it all was Shamrock — a nearly 200-pound dog on a diet — who successfully staged a public hunger crisis, acquired a watermelon Blow Pop, made a miraculous recovery, and then ratted out his accomplice with his breath.
Snitches get stitches, Shamrock.
Such is life with Irish Wolfhounds.