In trying to distract myself from the impending blizzard...
I thought I would write about Buddy, my wonder dog.
Once upon a time, (okay it was last night) I was startled awake by my 20 year-old son opening my bedroom door and saying...
“Mom, Buddy has just thrown up on my carpet, it is a huge pile, what should I do?”
I hesitated in my response, trying to figure out where I was and what had just been said to me.
“Mom, WHAT should I do?” he repeated.
I rolled over, looking at his 6 foot-plus frame illuminated by the hall light and said “Clean it up!”
“But how?” he replied.
I went into a quick instruction of what to do and he departed downstairs as I lay wide awake listening to the going-ons below.
At first I could hear noises that indicated he was following my directions, getting the dustpan, a roll of paper towels, the kitchen garbage can and then I heard coughing, then more coughing – followed by loud gagging sounds...
Not knowing if it was Buddy or the 20 year-old that was making the retching noises...I pulled my tired butt out of bed and went downstairs to investigate.
I was met in the living room by my son, red-faced, eyes watering, with a look of horror on his face and he said “I CANNOT clean that up anymore…I am going to puke!” (God help the sometime--way-in-the-future mother of his children – because when it comes to any type of body fluids he will be of NO assistance.)
I started cleaning up the "residual", then dried the carpet as best as I could before lightly spraying it with Febreeze (I love that stuff!!). Heading back up to bed, I told my son to watch Buddy (who was now outside puking!) and if he got worse to wake me up.
As the house quieted down, I was once again able to drift off to sleep, knowing I would be waking up earlier than normal, to get a jump on my snowy/ice-encrusted commute.
Upon arising, Buddy met me downstairs, tail a-wagging and looking no worse for the wear....so I, as I do every morning, let him outside.
He bounded thru the newly-fallen snow heading back to the base of his favorite tree....where he started nudging at something.
I watched from the kitchen window, curious as to what he was doing...he dug his nose down into the snow, finally pulling up his now-frozen-pile-of-puke! I stood in horror watching as he started gnawing on it as if it was some kind of hard beef jerky!
I cranked open the kitchen window and in my quietest-(it was 5:30 a.m.)-meanest voice I said “Buddy, get in here!”
He momentarily stopped chomping to glance at me over his shoulder and give me his "There is NO way I am listening to you!" look.
At which point I gave up.
Now I know that dogs are great, loving companions and I have had a dog most of my life....but this one has been quite a handful!
And for the record, Buddy is approximately 8 years-old, and that is information for those of you that will be asking the question “How old is he?....which I know, having been asked that many, many times after telling a “Buddy Tale" translates into....
“Will he be dying anytime soon?”
backyard no longer puke strewn