We left the house to go pick up my nephew, who we’ll be keeping for a couple days. Angela thought I put the dog up. I thought she did. Neither of us was right. We were gone for about an hour, and when Angela opened the front door, out trotted Kirby, licking his chops. He had just polished off a three pound box of See’s assorted chocolates.

I threw him in the truck and drove him to the Vet. They took him and told me to go home. They would be inducing vomiting and feeding him activated charcoal (which would bond with the toxins and prevent absorption). A couple hours later, Kirby was ready to be picked up, no worse for the wear. His face covered in charcoal. He looked like a coal-miner.

“He threw up a LOT of chocolate.” the vet said in amazement at the memory of it “And whole wrappers too.” The moment Kirby hit the house, he ran STRAIGHT to where he left he box to finish the job. This means he’s learned NOTHING.

This marks Kirby’s FOURTH suicide attempt in 9 years. One day he’ll pull it off.