Category: Dogs

I used to be a total stoner.

It was a different time in my life, but not all that long ago. I would ingest cannabis in some form or another pretty much everyday. One of my favorite ways to use weed was my really cool vaporizer. After you used this device you were left with the brown withered remains of your flower called ABV or “Already Been Vaped.”

The ABV still has a lot of good THC in it, so I saved mine for several months in a small jar until I had enough to make some potent weed butter. Butter and ABV sat in a slow cooker in my laundry room all day and my whole house reeked of burnt weed.

The next day when the butter had been cooled and the weed strained out, I made some brownies. They were delicious and strong. You only needed to eat a little at a time so they lasted for weeks in a plastic box above the fridge that said in bold red letters “WARNING ADULTS ONLY.”

One evening I was sitting on the couch watching TV and enjoying one of my brownies, when I needed to pee. I was high, so when I went to the bathroom I absentmindedly left the rest of my brownie on the arm of the couch. It was on a plate, I’m not an animal.

After a quick pee I came back to the couch and stared at the plate, which was now empty, for a long time.

“Wasn’t there half a brownie there?” I thought. “Where the fuck did it go? I swear I didn’t finish it.”

Then I looked around the room at my five dogs. “It wasn’t one of you, was it? You would not actually eat chocolate with weed in it? Right?” They didn’t say anything.

Shit.

I quickly googled “How much chocolate would make an 18lb dog sick” becuase my smallest dog was about 18 pounds. It seemed like it wasn’t enough chocolate to cause any serious problems. Even if my smallest dog ate the brownie the worst that could happen was some puking and diarrhea. Phew.

Next I googled “How much cannabis would make an 18lb dog sick?” Not so much info there. But it didn’t seem like anything really bad could happen with such a small amount.

I decided the best course of action was to keep watching TV and keep an eye on the dogs and see if anyone got sick. About 30 minutes later Josie, my smallest dog, started slowly tipping over as she sat on the couch. She had been sitting straight up and slowly, like ice cream, melted right into the couch.

It takes several hours for a dog to get sick from chocolate. My dog was high as fuck.

I felt like total shit. I kept crying and saying “I double poisoned my dog!” as Josie would go through periods of trembling and then try to walk around and stumble. I was only partly convinced from the research that she would be fine in a few hours.

The problem is that edibles stay in your bloodstream for a while and there is little that can be done to speed up the process of being high, you just have to wait it out.

I brought her up on the couch next to me where I could hold her and keep her safe from falling, while she was still uncoordinated from being high. I spent the rest of the evening being high with my dog feeling terrified I had accidentally killed her, even though google said she would be fine. I kept watching her close for signs of danger and none ever appeared. Eventually we went to bed. Josie sleeping with me like always.

Josie has started sleeping with me the very first night we brought her home. She was the first dog my husband and I adopted after getting married. Ace was actually the one who pushed us to get a dog. He really couldn’t stand the idea of living without one. I was perfectly happy with our two cats. I was in school, and did not have the time to walk a dog several times a day.

Not long after Ace had moved in with me a doggy daycare opened near our home, and I became a lot more open to the idea of having a dog. A dog could go to there the three days I was at school all day and I wouldn’t’ have to leave her alone in our little townhouse.

I decided to start searching for a dog in early 2008, in hopes of having a puppy by Valentines day. Ace was set on having corgi named Josiah, after his college best friend. I thought that was a terrible name  for a dog (sorry Josiah) and asked what the female alternative would be, “Josie of course” he responded. I felt a lot better about that idea. I just couldn’t picture myself yelling “Josiah!” to call my dog. That is not a dog name.

One day while I was in class, instead of paying attention, I decided to browse petfinder and see if there were any adoptable corgis. Astoundingly I found a dog listed a chihuahua corgi mix named Josie. She was 6 months old and was expected to stay small, perfect for our small house. I called up the rescue and made an appointment to come see her right away.

The foster home was in the city, not too far from my sisters apartment, so I used that as an excuse to keep Ace from knowing why I was really driving into Chicago that afternoon, to visit Josie.

The foster home was dark inside. The lights weren’t turned on despite the fact that it was a cloudy day and little light was coming in the windows. It was sparsely furnished and you could tell lots of dogs lived there, by the baby gates, dog crates, dog hair on the floor, and of course, the barking. The foster mom, Sam, greeted my sister, also named Sam, and me at the door and invited us into a front room with no chairs while she went to get Josie. I waited anxiously in this lady’s house while dogs barked from the basement.

When she brought in the small fluffy pup, I couldn’t help but be wooed by her big brown eyes and curly yellow tail. I sat on the floor cross legged and Josie immediately came over and sat right in my lap. I don’t remember anything else after that except loving this dog, who was clearly not a corgi, to death. I didn’t want to leave her behind in that loud dirty house, but the rescue group had a policy of waiting at least 24 hours after you applied before handing over the animal.

I went home totally in love with that puppy. I wanted her. I couldn’t contain how excited I was all week and by Sunday morning Ace correctly guessed what I was scheming, “Oh my gosh we are getting a puppy aren’t we?” “Yes! Today!” I replied, “Let’s go!”

The two of us drove the long drive from the far suburbs to the city, back to the small dirty house were Josie was temporarily living. That house was a big upgrade from the crowded kill shelter in Kentucky where she had been dropped “For chewing furniture and peeing in the house.” Clearly her former family had no idea what a puppy was like. They will never know what they gave up.

When I met Josie again a few days after the first meeting it was even better. Now she was mine, well ours, and this time I wouldn’t have to leave her. We had picked up a little green collar and leash on the way to the city, and on the way home we took her on a crazy shopping spree at Petco. We bought her everything a dog could possibly need including a crate, a bed, toys, food, treats, dishes, and even steps so she could get up on our tall bed easily. She never used the steps. Turns out Josie is a talented jumper.

 

 

That night she snuggled up in the crook of my knees in our big bed, and she’s slept there nearly every night since, for ten full years now. I had been on a mission to find a dog for Ace, but it turned out I got a dog for me. She immediately bonded to me when we first met and we’ve had something really special ever since. I didn’t know how much I needed Josie until I found her.

Recently, my four year old nephew said “Alli, I want Josie to come outside with me, but she only follows you!” and he’s right, she does only follow me. Her and I are usually found together wherever we are in the house.

There is a joke among my friends that you can know where I am by looking for Josie. She waits outside the bathroom door, outside my bedroom door, she follows me everywhere I let her, just short of getting in the shower. She prefers to stay dry and I let her lay on a towel just outside the tub. 

In addition to being incredibly sweet and loyal, Josie is very smart. She can learn tricks fast. I once taught her to “play” the piano in under an hour. Recently I taught her to roll over (you can in fact teach an old dog new tricks). Josie used to do agility and she loved it. We were a great team, and she excelled at it until we moved to Portland and stopped training. She has been the easiest of the six dogs we’ve had in the past ten years to train and she’s even helped trained all the new dogs. My sister jokes Josie is her niece, because my relationship with Josie is much more like that with another person than with a dog. “Josie is people” is often heard around our house.

She’s the pet we’ve had the longest and I know it’s cliche as fuck, but she’s my best friend. Every girl needs a dog, and I have Josie.

That night when I left my brownie on the couch I was terrified that I had fucked up so bad that I had killed my best friend and the best dog a girl could ever want. I had a hard time sleeping because I was so worried about her. She really has a piece of my heart. 

The day after the brownie incident Josie woke up and was back to her normal self, besides having diarrhea. I have never been so relieved, except maybe when I heard Mark’s first cries after he was born, but that’s another story. Josie has had a few brushes with death, but that brownie is the only one that was squarely my fault. I was the one who fucked up, and I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself.