This is one of our favorites stories from several years ago:
Despite his lack of depth perception, “Bandito”, a 20 pound Jack Russel Terrier, was full of pep that June day when the yeast had finally won the battle over control of his ears. Little did we know as we sent him out the door, ear medication in paw, that a time bomb was ticking inside him, a vestige of maladies past and a vision of danger to come!
You see, Bandito’s poor vision was the result of an unfortunate shift in the location of his right lens and the resultant glaucoma that claimed his eye at the youthful age of 7. While his left eye was enjoying a mercifully low pressure, his right was a thing of the past, having been removed in its entirety. Seeking the most cosmetic outcome, his parents had elected to have the ophthalmologist place a rubber implant in the socket during surgery. In the following weeks, two separate implants failed. Both had been rejected shortly after surgery, and despite the ghastly looks from strange dogs on his daily walks (you know how cruel dogs can be) and the awkward moments in front of the mirror each morning, he had grown to accept his wink as a small price to pay for his suburban life and all the culinary perks that go with it.
One week after his ear visit, however, Bandito's world changed. Almost imperceptibly at first, he felt the shift. Up came the methazolamide, then up came the xalatan. Then gradually the waves of nausea crescendoed, leading to episodes of vomiting so numerous that within hours, his dedicated master had him looking at the wall of an exam room once again. Bandito considered biting Dr. Bollenbeck as he had seen the other terrier do in the room next door, but his gentle nature made him think better of it, resigning himself to a groan and menacing glance (to the left that is) as his abdomen was palpated.
The medication he was forced to swallow followed the same general route as the rest of his gastric contents that night, and the next day saw an even more dismal trip to the hospital. This time radiographs revealed a round foreign body in his intestinal tract. As he listened to the conversation between his master and Dr. Bollenbeck, he got the sinking feeling that he had been a very naughty dog. He then got very sleepy and recalled the room moving jerkily from left to right. Bandito’s next experience was expelling the endotracheal tube, a sensation that made vomiting feel like a good scratch behind the ears.
He happened to overhear the surgeon’s conversation with his master as he lay in recovery. He did not see the humor that Dr. Rice apparently did in having removed an eye prosthesis from his duodenum. After all, it had been over 2 months since Bandito had finally managed to scratch that darn thing out. Since it was too small to roll in, Bandito had followed the next prime directive regarding dogs and unsavory objects--he ate it. He recalled that it was smoother going down than most foreign bodies and had all but forgotten about its full-bodied, slightly woody flavor, but apparently it had not exited his stomach and started it's journey down the small intestine until yesterday.
He knew he was in the right home when his master graciously accepted the diagnosis and bore neither resentment nor scorn towards his entirely canine habits. And four months later, “blind in one eye and can't see out t'other”, he was confident that, should his left eye have to be removed, he certainly wouldn't be bothered or tempted by another prosthesis. Drs. Bollenbeck and Rice learned an important lesson as well--A dog's eyes aren't bigger than his stomach, but they are bigger than his small intestine!
After consulting Ely's mom, a plan is made to remove them under anesthesia. A medication is given to control pain and smooth out the anesthesia. 
As you enter the treatment room, the lab is on your left
And light fixtures replaced the incandescent work lights. 
