My leaving Mexico with the critters means that Fiance doesn't technically have a reason to live in that house any longer. Mac, and my need for space were the only reasons a house was rented in the first place. Otherwise we would have stayed in the hotel for the entire time we lived south of the border. It's only a 9 minute drive from Fiance's work, everything is taken care of for us, the staff all speak English, and there's a pool. It was fairly easy to predict that he planned to move back to the hotel as immediately as possible upon my return to the states.
Thus, in my final week, I took to using as much food up as possible, since you can't bring food over the border, and Fiance would soon have no reason to cook while living next to a restaurant in room 4-0-something. I came up with a few creative things, just for the sake of using up the stuff we had on hand. I made tamales using chicken and apple juice instead of pork and lard (they were much tastier than I just made that sound). I was also all set to make one last batch of diet coke brownies (aka brownie mix + a can of diet coke = low cal goodness), but then I realized that we had about a bajillion mangoes that were on the tipping point of ripe. So I cut up 6 or 7 mangoes, switched the whole can of diet coke for a splash of diet sprite (I just felt like coke and mango would clash), mixed it all up, and threw 'em in the oven.
Okay first things first, if you've ever done the diet coke brownies and thought "these are so dry," try putting mangoes in them. Pretty darn good if I do say so myself (Fiance ate them like they were going out of style, so it's not just me).
Second things... second, if you have a dog who loves mangoes (Mac drools so hard when you're eating a mango in front of him that you'd swear his head had suddenly become a sprinkler), well then... okay whatever, you see where this is going: It's a bad idea.
My very last night in Mexico Fiance took me out for sushi because he's lovely and ohgoshimisshimalready. We got home and Mac met us at the door, giving us his classic "I did something I knew I wasn't supposed to but just look at how happy I am to see you come home and never look in the living room" face. He'd eaten a ziploc baggie, which is, annoying, but I really think he's got a blood relation to goats because he's eaten them before, he'll eat them again, and they don't really do any harm.
If you are not aware - Dogs cannot process chocolate. It will KILL them.
So, you know, I flipped out. Hard. Fiance and I were both frantically googling on our cell phones to see if there were any good at-home remedies to make him puke. All while Mac was bringing me toys to play with him, and sneaking up on the couch to sit next to me for attention. (Looking back on this moment, I keep replaying this clip from Louis CK's visit to the Conan show. A good laugh.)
Eventually, Fiance, being a thinker, had me look up the ingredients in the brownie mix. Here's a fun fact for you: Great Value Brownie Mix does not contain real chocolate (yay cheap generic brands!). Additional fun fact: while I do not recommend feeding Great Value brownies to your dog, fake chocolate flavoring apparently will not poison them to death.
Still, I was skeptical. So Fiance looked up the symptoms to look for if Mac started to get chocolate poisoning (thank goodness for internet capable phones!) and we watched him like a hawk until bed time. He was acting 100% normal, or at least as normal as he could act when both Fiance and I were being super paranoid around him.
With so much going on in my head, it's amazing that I fell asleep that night; but somehow I did, and I slept hard. You know, until like 3AM, when I woke with a start and sat up to stare at the dog asleep on the floor.
Was he breathing? It was dark I couldn't tell.
I got up to check, assuming that he'd wake up at the sound of me getting out of the bed. He didn't move.
I walked up to him and he still didn't move.
I knelt down and tried to listen for a doggie snore. Nothing (to be fair, it's impossible to comfortably sleep in Mexico, in May, without the A/C blaring).
But I didn't want to wake up Fiance unless something was really wrong because he was going to be driving me to the border in the morning and that was a big stretch to get through. So I did what any sensible, rational person would do at 3AM to their dog who had not showed any harmful signs of non-chocolate chocolate poisoning: I shook Mac like a shake-weight and whisper-shouted at him.
The poor guy woke up and looked at me with such a "I don't know what happened to you, but our thing is over." face (If you did not click that Louis CK link above, you really should take a second and watch it now). And then he went straight back to sleep.
In the morning we set out to drive home. Day two we stopped at a rest-stop in Arkansas. And Mac pooped. He pooped a bright orange poop that smelled like poop... and chocolate.
With that association fresh in my mind, I'm pretty sure chocolate is ruined for me forever.
Which I guess might help with the whole "Dreaded 29" thing. So... Good Dog?