Sydney is ill. He vomited a lot  last night and then wound up being outside for an unknown period of time. We don’t know how he got out and when he came in he sought various spots of blanketed comfort. He moved from one to another and finally wound up under a table.  Der Bingle spent the night sleeping on the floor beside him.

And this morning I remembered with a jolt I had put some Scotts Turf Builder down a couple of days a go when the snow melting. I was piqued because I hadn’t spread it out before the snow came and, by God, I was going to do it now. So I awoke Der Bingle with these words, “Get up. I think I poisoned Sydney.”

That got things in motion. We reread the bag – with a magnifying glass –  and called poison control. However, since Der Bingle has a California number, he woke up some fellow in California. We found out the 800 number takes into consideration the area code from the incoming call. W e called the vet and will observe Sydney until 2 pm when we will call again.

Der Bingle fixed him a bed of soft blankets on top of a comfy beanbag and I took a picture I said I wasn’t going to take. I didn’t think I’d want to remember this if things go bad. And then I  took it anyway.