Shoes, Ships, and Sealing Wax

Don't read this over breakfast

Back last December my sister pointed me to one of the funniest blog posts I have ever read: the Kid Who Ate Christmas.

Since them "Am I gonna barf and die?" has been something of a catch phrase in the family.

We use it a lot on the dog, because she's, well, a dog. A more sensitive vomit reflex does not exist.

I still remember, not long after I got her, I woke up in the middle of the night to hear her going hork...hork. She was retching, but nothing was coming out. I called the emergency vet, who had me give her hydrogen peroxide. Instantly she puked up a sock.

Over the years she's eaten and regurgitated socks, hair ties, plastic bags, and enough grass to cover the Augusta back nine. (It could be worse. We once attended a brunch where the host was dog sitting a friend's lab. In the middle of the party, the dog threw up a Brillo pad in the center of the living room. You could tell the non-dog owners by their confusion: why would a dog eat a Brillo pad? Those of with dogs nodded sympathetically and ate our quiche.)

Victor came home the other day in hysterics over this Get Fuzzy cartoon.

So I've established: dogs eat random things they shouldn't and throw them up, and the line "Am I going to barf and die?" is hysterical.

When the dog starts puking at 3 a.m., you can mutter "Am I going to barf and die?" and roll over and go back to sleep. When the dog is still puking at 5, and has been continuously puking for the whole time, barfing and dying doesn't seem so funny.

The vet opens in 20 minutes.

Posted by Nic at March 29, 2006 07:40 AM | TrackBack