Swallowed Whole

One time, when I was only 4, I almost killed our family dog. It will forever be etched into my brain as one of the most terrifying moments of my life.

Mom and Dad had cooked hamburgers that night and for some reason I can’t explain, I just could not finish my burger. I sure do wish I still had trouble finishing my food.

I was informed that I could not, under any circumstances other than a fire, burglary, or natural disaster leave the table until my plate was clean. I sat at the table twirling my fork brainstorming ways to get rid of the burger without actually eating it.

As my dad stood in front of the sink in his green scrubs and apron, he took a quick look at his watch.

“I’m almost done with these dishes and it’s gonna be very dark in here when I turn these lights out and go upstairs to bed. I hope something doesn’t getcha….”

Uh-Oh. In all my stubbornness, I hadn’t thought about that. At four years old, being left alone in the dark is just as scary as strapping a few steaks to your body and walking into a pin of pit bulls. This called for extreme measures.

Suddenly, a light bulb appeared over my head. (It didn’t really, but if this happened to be a cartoon, it would have.)

I looked down at the dog, Miss Lolly. Poor thing - she had been patiently waiting by my side the entire meal, sucking up crumbs faster than a Dirt Devil. She looked at me with her enthusiastic, brown eyes. All her begging had paid off, and she knew it was her time to shine.

“Come ‘er Miss Wowwy,” I whispered as I snuck the slab of meat off my plate and quickly concealed it under the table.

I eyed my dad, who was busy polishing the last plate. I dropped the half-a-hamburger. It didn’t even make it to the floor.

Miss Lolly quickly gobbled it up in a few fluid motions. SUCCESS! I begin clearing my plate and silverware triumphantly when suddenly, I hear a gagging noise. I look down. Miss Lolly is in an armadillo-like, balled-up position with her mouth wide open and her eyeballs bulging. It sounded like she had swallowed a golf ball.

“SHE’S CHOKING! SHE’S CHOKING!” I scream, as Dad throws down the dish towel and drops to his knees in front of the dog. When I get myself into a bad situation, I have the tendency to panic by jumping up and down. I still do it, to this day. It’s absurd and completely embarrassing. So, anyway, I start my jumping.

“What did she get? What’s she choking on??” he says frantically, reaching his fingers down her throat revealing the piece of lumpy, brown meat coated in slobber.

Now it takes a lot to make my dad squish his face up in disgust. He spends his days in an operating room getting spewed with regurgitated Chick-fil-A, watching doctors take out appendixes, and watching surgeons sew heads back on while he makes sure the patients don’t feel or remember a thing.

But let me tell you something: my dad’s face definitely portrayed his disgust as he held up the (almost) digested hamburger.

He looked back up at me with the substance in his hand. It was in the same condition it was in when I threw it to her: completely un-chewed. It’s like it just lodged there in her eager little throat.

Oh snap.

You see, in the Culverhouse house, my parents don’t say they have a dog. They have a child that happened to be born with two extra legs. So basically, feeding Miss Lolly a piece of meat that large was essentially comparable to putting rocks in an infant’s baby food. It was stupid, and I was in trouble.

Before I have time to come up with an excuse, I’m sent upstairs and instructed to get in bed. I do as I’m told. And like a good little girl, I kneel beside my bed and thank God that Miss Lolly was okay.

Sometimes you just have to learn important lessons the hard way. For example, I learned to always check my rear-view mirror before backing out of the garage after I nailed my dad’s truck and smashed the driver’s door into the passenger’s seat. I learned to always make sure I have my car keys in my hand BEFORE I shut the car door after I locked myself out of the car 10 minutes before taking the test to get my driver’s license. I learned not to eat chips and salsa before boxing class after I…well, you get it…

And for the record, I have finished every single burger placed on my plate since the day that I almost killed the family dog.