You'd swear to god I starved my dog, if you'd met him. Really. It was ridiculous.
He'd spend hours in the kitchen just scrounging around for food--snuffling around in the corners, licking the cabinets where maybe three days ago a drop of jelly had run down and onto the floor, pressing his face down against the floor and licking under the fridge. He'd pull his face out in shock and flick his tongue around trying to get clumps of hair out of his mouth.
The ridiculous thing about it was that he had plenty to eat. He got even more than the recommended amount on the bag of dog food, and that's got to be the high end of a healthy portion to start with. So basically, he was eating more than more than a dog should eat.
Once, he got into the bag of dog food and ate about eight pounds of food. He weighed fifty pounds at the time. Well, fifty-eight.
I had been out with friends, and when I came back and saw my mother on the computer I said "How's Star?" His name is Star. I am fully aware that's a girl's name. I was going to name him Hrothmir, but with an eth instead of a th. I thought people would think that name was stupid though, so I named him Star.
She said "laying down in your room." I went in and saw him lying, his abdominal area swollen like a pregnant woman.
I started looking online and then sobbing, because of course he had bloat and bloat was pretty much a death warrant. I was lying there holding him and sobbing and saying "I love you buddy, I love you so much, I'm sorry I'm sorry, I love you Star," and that went on until we got to the twenty-four-hour vet's.
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