When his face got close to mine, he licked my cheek and, without even having to inspect the contents of his teeth, I knew without a doubt it was soap. His breath smelled rather fresh…in a soapy-clean way. He wiggled again so I put him down and trudged down the hallway toward the bathroom, dreading the mess I would find. Sure enough, there was a trail of ripped wrappers and three little soap cakes either crumbled up completely or bearing gnaw marks. My floor was also pock-marked with a half-dozen or so little puddles of shampoo and conditioners because, apparently, the plastic bottles were tasty, too.
“How the hell did you get into the cabinet, you little shit?!” I asked him, conversationally. He gave a small whine in response and bounded out of the bathroom as I started cleaning up. I closed the door to the cabinet under the sink, where he’d managed to Houdini it open somehow and drag out the basket I’d had stashed under there.
When I closed it, I realized that a curling iron I’d shoved under the sink had shifted, blocking the door from shutting all the way. It left a very small gap, but it was enough to let the little demon dog worm his nose inside until he was able to get his head in.
I cleaned up the mess, shaking my head and muttering the whole time. I’d just finished when I heard a shout and then pounding feet as Brandon raced down the hallway, hollering for me.
“Chloe! There’s something wrong with Grady!” He sounded frantic, which made me panic, because I didn’t even think about the fact that he ate soap…God, what could that do to his little belly? I jumped up and raced out the door, meeting him halfway down the hall.
Brandon was holding the pup under his furry armpits, dangling him in front of him. I stopped, my alarm giving way to uncontrollable laughter, even though I knew it was not a good time for it. I couldn’t help it, though.
Apparently, Grady had gotten a drink from his bowl in the kitchen and the water, mixed with the soap bits stuck in his teeth and agitated by his lapping, created a lovely, frothy white beard of bubbles that was dripping down his doggy chin like a deranged, soapy Santa. His tongue was lolling from his mouth, and he was still wearing his goofy puppy-grin, like he didn’t have a care in the world.
“He’s foaming at the mouth…he has rabies or some shit! What the fuck is going on? Why are you laughing?” Brandon shouted at me.
I laughed even louder, clutching my stomach, unable to form words as tears streamed from my eyes because, as he was yelling at me, Grady belched, a lovely, bottom-of-the-gut burp that gurgled from his mouth. With that burp, a perfect soap bubble sailed out into the air, floating over my head to pop on the wall behind me.
Brandon glared at me. “Jesus, Chloe. Can you stop laughing long enough to tell me what the hell is going on?”
I wiped my eyes and, still chuckling, took the dog from him. I carried him back into the bathroom and grabbed a towel to wipe his face, explaining to Brandon what happened while I did.
“Oh.”
That’s all I got for a reply until he said, “Is it gonna make him sick? Did he eat it all?”
My concern returned and I glanced into the trash can where I’d deposited the crumbled soap pieces. “I don’t know. I don’t think he ate much of it, just kinda crumbled it all up and chewed on it. I probably should call his vet to see. Do you know who they use?”
“They probably take him to Doc, same as everyone else. That’s where we take Doug and that’s where Emma and Luke take DJ now, too. I’ve got his number in my phone.” Brandon pulled his phone out and called the vet’s office as he walked out of the bathroom.
Grady, still in my arms, suddenly looked at me with a pained expression (yes, even dogs can look pained) and whined.