Take Two of These and Call Me in the Morning

We seem to have some sort of bug going around in the house. It started early last week right after dinner. Blue had decided, despite the 80 degree heat and 98% humidity, the best place to settle down for the evening was on the couch, in mumma’s lap.

Greyhounds are heat radiators. Their body temperatures can run a degree or two higher than non-greys and dogs in general run up to 4-5 degrees higher than humans. In the winter, this is a fabulous feature but in the summer, a snuggle on the couch with a large greyhound feels like 10 hours in an overheated sauna, complete with the 5 pounds of water weight loss. For some of us, this is a nice quick way to fit into those skinny jeans. I’m thinking of renting Blue out to wrestlers and boxers as an all natural way to “make weight.”

Still, since losing Girly Girl, I’m super conscious of the fact we don’t get them for long so I make some sacrifices. Blue climbed into my lap and settled himself in for a nice long melt down.

I had barely broken a sweat when he jumped off the couch, staggered around the coffee table and with no warning retching whatsoever, he opened his mouth and delivered his entire dinner (and what I will swear under oath was a good cups worth extra) onto the carpet.

I’m not generally squeamish but puke is not my favorite bodily fluid to deal with. I ran for paper towels and covered the giant pile so I wouldn’t have to see it, then went for cleaning supplies. Blue, having had a moment’s reflection must have realized that his stomach was now entirely empty and it was a loooong way to breakfast because I came back to find him trying to nose his way under the paper towels to “reclaim” what had been his.

Putting a damper on his fun, I shooed him to his crate where he morosely watched me set to work. Vomit totally grosses me out. I’m not very good when I have to deal with it. I was facing a giant, fresh pile of lightly digested dog food. It smelled unpleasant, it was greyhound temperature and I kept picturing Blue planning to re-consume it. Before I had even removed the paper towel that was hiding it, I was already gagging. Even with 2 rolls of paper towels, rubber gloves and a Spot Bot I had to stop numerous times and turn away to get the dry heaves under control.

With vomit as my kryptonite, imagine my shock and surprise when early, early one morning a few days after the Blue incident, Bettina woke me from a dead sleep with the unmistakable sounds of a dog dry heaving enroute to emesis. Bettina was sleeping on the bed next to me at the time and even in my sleep befuddled foggy mind I realized I had to do something quick or I’d be sleeping on a mattress covered in dog puke and a trip to the Laundromat to wash my comforter was most certainly in my future.

This isn’t the first time Bettina has woken me out a lovely slumber with the threat of mattress defilement. My body immediately sprang into action. Unfortunately, my brain had decided not to join the fracas. It was still pretty dark out and Bettina is black enough that she becomes invisible under the best of conditions. In the darkness she was a black hole sucking in all available light.

Still, my body seemed to know what it was doing. My arms blindly groped around trying to grab places that looked darker than the rest of the room. When my hands found purchase I heaved the furry mass up, tucked it under my arm and started to drag her off the bed.

My initial plan was to run her to the kitchen where it is a much easier clean up job. It was about this point my brain piped up and said, “Um, this part that you’ve got in front where the nose should be feels suspiciously like a tail.” I dropped her onto the bed, turned myself the other way and heaved her up again. My still fogged brain chimed in again, “I, um, sort of still feel a tail here where the nose should be. Can you double check this?” Feeling around in the dark revealed not a head, nose or ears as expected but indeed, another tail. Oh hell! I dropped her back on the bed, turned myself back the other way and heaved her up under my arm for a third time.  Bettina was so bewildered from feeling ill and the crazy panicked lady man-handling her from every side; she had been shocked out of retching. My brain did not immediately register this as I half-dragged half-ran her to the kitchen.

We sat on the kitchen floor in silence. Any urge to disgorge the contents of her stomach had apparently passed. Shortly we gave up and went back to bed. I was awoken the next 2 days in a row in exactly the same manner. The second day I decided that whatever end I got was the end I was rolling with. Luckily, I got her front end, but she didn’t throw up that morning either.

By the third morning I was not concerned one iota about the mattress. At that point I was ready to gladly roll around on a puke soaked mattress. When Bettina started retching that morning I rolled over, gave her a few cursory pats on her back and said, “Good girl, don’t throw up,” rolled back over and went to sleep. She didn’t throw up.

Everyone has perked back up if not completely recovered from the mystery bug. Vomit events are getting fewer and farther between. I always said I didn’t want kids because I never wanted to deal with all their stuff…pee, poop, vomit, runny noses, the need for constant attention, whining and crying, oh yeah, and stubborn tantrums in stores. Sure glad I don’t have to deal with any of that with my dogs...