Excuse him, he’s been in the chocolate

SHERWOOD KIRALY

We’re glad the holidays are over because they can be particularly

stressful for those with substance abuse issues, such as our dog.

Previous visitors to this space may recall that last April our

1-year-old Welshie, Booker, got into our neighbors’ house and ate all

their Easter candy.

This first taste was the equivalent of the fatal glass of beer; it

gave him a drug of choice.

Of course we never gave him candy, and we watched the countertops

as he grew big enough to reach them. But during the holidays we went

to the movies a few times, leaving Booker in charge of the house.

A cluttered house, at that. The week after Christmas at our place

is a bit more chaotic than usual. There’s a lot of wrapping paper and

little packages around, things we’ve gotten and forgotten about. It’s

a promising mess for a dog.

On movie night we left some items on the kitchen table, delicacies

Patti Jo intended to take to her mother’s house the next day: a

6-ounce box of vanilla almond biscotti, a 3-ounce package of

chocolate-covered raspberries, another 3 ounces of chocolate almond

toffee, and a package of espresso.

When we got home, Booker was extremely glad to see us; he almost

wagged himself in half. On the floor we found the three biscotti and

chocolate packages, empty, and the espresso package, mooshed up but

unopened. He didn’t need the espresso.

We showed him the packages and he felt guilty for five seconds. We

exiled him outside and he ran around the back yard nonstop. When we

let him in he ran around the house with a goofy grin on his face. He

jumped up on the bed and hung his head over the side so he could look

at everybody upside down. He chased the cats. He thought he was

witty, but he was just making a spectacle of himself.

Ordinarily Booker is earnest and unassuming. Let him get a few

hits of sugar under his belt and he’s Jim Carrey.

We looked up chocolate in our home vet book and it said a dog

could die if he ate one to two pounds of it. Booker’s intake came in

well under that level, but we monitored him carefully for the next

few hours while he clowned around all over the house.

Next morning Patti Jo took him for a walk and reported that he was

still buzzed and wouldn’t listen; he just kept hurtling here and

there, sniffing everything whether it smelled or not.

The hangover wasn’t pretty; he slept with his eyelids half open

all afternoon and woke up looking like a 15-year-old bloodhound. We

sat down with him, but he didn’t want to talk about it.

He’s over it now; all better. In fact, every move he makes is a

denial that he has a problem. But we’ve heard that before, and we’re

beefing up security for Valentine’s Day.