Today mother had a day off.  I knew it was a day off when we got to go back to bed after dad left for work.  I almost never get to go back to bed.  Usually, my human sister, Anna, wakes up when we do and from that point on in the morning, I'm being carried, brushed, dressed and paraded.  But today, dad took Anna to school so Bea, mother and I trotted happily backed to bed.  Of course the peace and quiet didn't last long -- even in dog time.  Vonnie was calling from the clinic.  A sick dog had come in as an "emergency" and they needed mother's help.  Emergency must mean run around and eat breakfast fast because that's exactly what we did.

We barely had time to finish our kibbles when mother finished her rain shower, dressed us all and shuttled us off to the clinic.  I expected to find everyone rushing around;  maybe some red syrup puddles or wailing dogs.  The place was suprisingly quiet when we arrived.  It was only after Bea and I got settled into the apartment that I figured out why we were there.

A white dog named Vixen, about the same size as Bea, was hunched up in the corner of one of the upper apartments.  Her breathing was fast and shallow -- not the panicky kind of breathing, but the way you breath when it hurts to do anything else.  Every few minutes she would grunt, move around, switch positions and curl up again.  Her voice was weak, and straining, and with every breath I could just make out, " I gotta go, I really gotta go".  But despite her groaning and straining and pushing, nothing was coming out.
I overheard mother and father talking:  "She's obstructed.", father said, "and I've taken x-rays and I don't see any stones".  Apparently this was a problem, because mother and father both had the worried look, and the smell of fear started to waft off of them.   Mother is not one to stand around too long though, and soon she got to work -- setting up all of the beeping machines, and the tubes and wires.  It didn't take much pinch medicine to help Vixen sleep.  I really hoped that she would be able to get the yellow marking liquid out in her sleep, the way Bea sometimes does.  I could tell mother wanted the same thing because she tried lots of different ways to make it happen.  Vixen was moved all around the clinic when she was asleep too -- from the humming picture table, to the moving picture machine that tickles your tummy with the white goo-covered stick.  After spending what would have been several days in dog time, mother finally said. " This just isn't working, I can get a tube in but nothing's coming out!".  So Vixen woke up from her sleep.   Some of the pokes that mother gives make you feel happy even when you are sore, and Vixen wasn't complaining about much when she woke.  She had been dreaming about swallowing a large egg and she was sure that it was stuck inside her.  Vixen's mom showed up while Vixen was still going on about getting the egg out.  Vixen's mom was really sad, and had lots of water coming out of her eyes.  I heard mother say that Vixen was getting "referred to a specialist".  I don't know what that means, but by the end of the day mother and father found out that Vixen was never coming back from that "specialist:".  I made sure that I went outside later and marked a little extra yellow juice just for her. 
So I guess that the story of Vixen is that if there are any dogs, or cats, out there with yellow marking juice problems don't keep it to yourself, because it might be too late.  Some dogs would be afraid to leave yellow juice in the house and get in trouble, but if it helps people like my folks find a problem before it's too late, then I say go right on their bed if you have to.  That's my motto.