We had a 12#, yellow, 4-legged oscillator - named it Rusty (the yellow had a tinge of red in it, therefore the name...)
Wife was into making chocolates - melt the stuff, pour it into forms, wait for it to harden up. Simple? Not with a dog in the house.
She made up 2 pounds of this stuff, laid it on the kitchen table.
She needed me to run her to the store for some stuff - we couldn't take Rusty with - so she put on the leash, then put the owner-end on around the table leg. Rusty wasn't able to get up on the table. Right?
Wrong.
When we came back - all the chocolates were missing from the molds (all the molds were still on the table!) and the dog was looking at us like, "Where's the dessert?"
I call a vet (This is a Saturday, of course!) and I'm told that there's a good chance Rusty will be pushing daisies if he's not given a $45.00 "shot" that will mitigate the effects of chocolates in the ratio that was consumed (2# of chocolate -vs.- 12# furball).
I ask (beg) for another way - a very disappointed voice suggested that "...2 tablespoons of hydrogen peroxide (HP) will "help the dog expel its contents..."
I thank the vet, hang up, grabbed Rusty and told the wife "Grab the peroxide and get in the back yard!"
Rusty thinks he's in for the best backyard tussle he's ever had. We are!
I lay him on his back, straddle the dog, grab his muzzle and somehow with two fingers, I plug his nose. Meanwhile the wife's trying to measure out 2 tablespoons of HP and I'm starting to think that the neighbors are getting ready to call the police 'cause the neighbor guy is performing some sick act of unspeakable horror, on a small animal, in the backyard.
Anyways, I see that the tablespoon-thing ain't lookin' too good, so I just take the bottle, open Rusty's mouth (remember, I'm on top of this thing with him laying on his back...) and pour about 1/2 the bottle (4-6 oz.) down his throat.
I jump off the dog. He flips over onto his feet and just like a cartoon, he almost stops in mid-stride and looks up at me like he's saying, "What the...?"
Then it happens...
This 12# ball of fur starts horking up a foaming 2# Hershey Dog-Kiss on the lawn.
Now, I manage to pull Rusty away from his newly formed piece of yard-art when I get the brilliant idea of "washing" the mess away.
I hit the "kiss" w/a spray from the garden hose. Smart move. "Freezes" the mass into a solid mound of chocolate-dog-barf.
That move worked out better than I would have guessed.
With the mass solidified, I was able to "rip" it off the lawn, like a chocolate-colored scab and throw it right into the trash.
Rusty?
He survived.
Neighbors?
Traumatized 'til they asked questions, then they died laughing.
Cops? None.
Wife?
Wondered why I didn't have $45.00 on me.
Me?
Therapy ain't done squat...