A Shitty Story
(An article written for the Briard Newsletter, French Letters.)
Back in one of the very first volumes of French Letters, (perhaps even before our newsletter carried that name), I remember discussing the aesthetic qualities of Emma's faeces. Despite having three large faecal factories (Shannon, Sarah and Emma) roaming what we loosely describe as a garden, Emma's produce was always immediately identifiable, laced as it was with black lace or pretty mauve ribbons. It appeared that Emma's great mission in life was the recycling of lingerie.
As a more mature adult, Emma started to lapse in her mission. Whether this was because I learned to keep dirty laundry more that five feet off the ground, or because Emma's tastes matured to duvets, pillows and stolen chocolates is a moot point. All I knew was that her turds weren't as pretty as they used to be, except, perhaps, when interspersed with the glittering foil of undigested chocolate wrappings. Pretty or not, however, Emma's bowel production has always been a source of wonder in the Jesudason household.
I was less than fascinated, though, when Emma's digestive system started producing at the other end. The first evening of vomiting didn't concern me too much - she seemed fit and healthy and there was nothing obviously wrong. The next day (day 2) Emma seemed her normal self and devoured her dinner with the usual gusto, but again brought it up, less than an hour later, totally undigested.
Not happy about two nights of vomiting, I headed to the vet first thing in the morning. My usual vet was away on holiday and we met his locum. She examined Emma thoroughly: no sign of pain or swelling, no fever, all vital signs normal. Nothing to indicate any problem at all. The vet gave Emma an injection to inhibit vomiting and suggested she eat a bland diet of chicken and rice for a few days. That night (day 3) Emma ate her chicken with mild enthusiasm and didn't vomit. I thought we were out of the woods.
The next day (day 4) Emma seemed a little less active than usual, but not noticeably uncomfortable. That evening she only picked at her bland meal, and what she did eat came up again almost immediately. It suddenly struck me that the vomiting was much like projectile vomiting sometimes seen in young infants. I was suddenly convinced that Emma had some serious and life threatening condition. I knew enough to know she didn't have bloat or stomach torsion, but I was thinking along the lines of pyloric stenosis. I rang Jenny in a panic, asking about all the possible digestive disorders common to Briards. We ran through various possibilities, though none particularly common to Briards, but nothing seemed to fit her symptoms.
First thing in the morning (day 5) I rang the vet again and made another appointment to take her in and mentally prepared myself for the possibility of exploratory surgery.
Later that same morning, just as we were about to leave for the vet, Emma ran into the garden and began straining. I went to watch and offer support. (What kind of support should one give a straining Briard???)
She strained and strained. It was like watching a woman in labour.
Then it started. Slowly but surely Emma started to pass a stool. Six inches…. twelve inches…. eighteen inches…… twenty four inches….. thirty inches….
I think my jaw hit the ground several minutes before her stool did. The final inches eased out of her rear end and Emma happily bounded away looking rather pleased with herself, having finally passed a single stool some thirty-two inches long! Not quite able to believe what I had seen, I went and prodded the result of her labours and discovered she had passed whole, a pair of men's underpants, broken only at one point in the stretched-out elastic. Meanwhile, Emma was in the kitchen looking for brunch.
Needless to say, the vomiting ceased, the appetite returned, and I've raised the laundry basket even higher from the ground.
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