[To the tune of Christmas Song (Chestnuts over an open fire)]
A one...A two...A one two three four....
Dog puke foaming by the closed front door
Placed there for me to schmear around.
Dog looking at me...she's just about to blow...
Merry Christmas to you.
Woke up to a foaming-mouthed 80 lb boxer mix jumping on the bed. Licking her foamy chops and gagging.
6AM Christmas morning.
First reaction: *harsh mean whisper* "Knock it off!"
Then eyes pop open. Shit did she already puke? Is she about to puke? Oh HELL no, it's not going to be on me...
Jump up climb over husband...shoo dog out of bed.
"Wanna go outside?"
Young dog in other room hops to attention. Older (vomity) dog meanders.
No rush. She wouldn't be about to puke and not running to the door.
Then I saw it.
The string of puke piles starting at the front door (bless her heart for trying) and extending from there down the hall and into the living room.
I gingerly open the door - like opening gently will make the door lift slightly from it's hinges and not transform my door into a Bob Ross "happy brush" streaking puke across my floor.
She's been sick - off and on this week. Pukes and then beat the hell out of Young Dog for good measure. Just to claim dominance again.
Puking is the most demeaning thing ever. Ever. Much worse then shitting on the table when giving birth.
I kicked both dogs out of the house. In the process of evacuation, Old Dog steps in a pile and bunny hops, wet foot waving, out the door.
I cleaned up the messes. The dogs are still outside.
This is a bad sign. Old Dog hates the cold and hates snow. What's worse is that Young Dog obnoxiously loves snow. Imagine a black lab mix running round with a pile of snow on her schnoz. Bounding and fluffing snow with every leap. It's cute at first, but Old Dog hates it. Old Dog wants nothing to do with winter. Young dog exacerbates the situation.
An hour has gone by since they went out. Old Dog yips, yelps, hollers and makes otherwise alarming sounds when she's cold and shaky and wants to come in and melt on the couch covered in blankets. The lack of noise from outside means that (a) Old Dog is still hurling, (b) eating new snow on the salted deck (which probably is the source of our issue), or (c) doesn't care that Young Dog has buried Old Dog in her attempts at disrupting every square inch of newly falling Christmas Even snow.
Either way it's a bad sign.
So now, I'm up. It's 7AM Christmas morning. I've already gagged more than my Christmas Day quota, hubs won't budge (I tried to get him to help with janitorial duties...no dice), and Babygirl has at least 2 more hours of sleep in her.
Merry flippin' Christmas.