But Apparently Need Saying: Don’t Poison the Puppy
In her defence, she didn’t actually mean to poison the dog. She was simply having a minor meltdown over the outrageous injustice of not being allowed her iPad at the table.
To put this into context: she has never been allowed her iPad at the table. This is not a new rule. This is not a recently introduced tyranny. This is a long-standing, deeply embedded, “older-than-the-child” household policy. “No tech at the table” was adopted from a boarding school I used to work at and has been in place since before she existed.
So naturally, her reaction was… dramatic.
She decided that if she couldn’t have breakfast with her iPad, then she didn’t want breakfast at all, and flung it across the table. An inch-square piece of toast with chocolate hazelnut spread skittered to the floor.
The puppy—essentially a sentient vacuum cleaner with legs—hoovered it up before anyone could intervene.
Now, for those unfamiliar with dogs: cocoa is bad. Not “a bit of an upset tummy” bad. Properly, vet-call, Google-at-7am bad.
The puppy, however, was delighted with his life choices.
The fae child immediately began hyperventilating, convinced she had killed her beloved pet. My husband, meanwhile, was switching between yelling at the dog for eating the toast and yelling at the child to calm down.
For future reference: yelling at anyone to calm down is about as effective as using kerosene as a flame retardant.
We survived the immediate aftermath long enough to get the fae child to school (via a stop for a regulating hot chocolate and calm down) and call the vet. We were told to monitor the puppy. Because it was a small amount, it should be fine.
Here’s the issue with toxins and dogs—particularly chocolate: there is no clear “safe” limit. Dog breeds vary so wildly that what might be dangerous for a Chihuahua wouldn’t even register for a Great Dane. And even if someone did establish a definitive threshold (which would be wildly unethical and practically impossible), humans would immediately start crossbreeding dogs like some sort of chaotic paint palette and render the data useless anyway.
So the official veterinary advice remains: don’t.
Sound advice.
Unfortunately, puppies are not known for their commitment to sound decision-making. They respond primarily to “walk” and “food,” and even then only selectively.
We thought we’d gotten away with it.
We had not.
Two days later, the puppy wasn’t himself.
Now, this is a dog who usually behaves like a caffeinated land shark. So when he:
- refused treats (deeply suspicious),
- sat quietly next to me (alarming),
- and did not attempt to chew my hand off (deeply concerning),
…I knew something was wrong.
I picked him up—no small feat, given he’s over 10kg and usually powered by chaos—and took him to my husband. The fact that the dog tolerated being held without attempting escape confirmed our fears.
Something was definitely up.
At the vet, he received:
- a haircut (because apparently you can’t check a dog’s eyes if you can’t find them),
- a thorough poking,
- and the deeply insightful diagnosis of:
“He’s eaten something he shouldn’t have.”
Well.
I am stunned.
This animal—who regularly consumes grass cuttings, bees, poop, gravel, and yes, chocolate toast—has eaten something he shouldn’t have.
Who could have predicted this.
After a stabby painkiller injection, an alarming amount of money spent on prescription tinned food, and something described as “medical-grade yoghurt,” we returned home.
It turns out he loves the prescription food.
He adores the yoghurt.
He is now deeply offended by his regular kibble.
Or at least he was—until I covered it in bacon grease, at which point he decided life was worth living again.
Moral of the story:
Don’t poison the puppy.
Or you will find yourself bribing it with bacon grease just to get it to eat like a normal animal again. For once this advice didn’t come from the trainer (now known forever as three dogs in a trenchcoat) but is probably in her playbook somewhere.
Raising the Modern Fae 