The Vomit Chronicles: Sometimes It's the Dog's Fault

Monday morning found us tired and dragging this week. Ella woke up with the barking cough, the pollen having finally caught up with her, so Mucinex and cough syrup and a cup of hot chocolate were in order. I got her fixed up and she finished her morning jobs while she waited on me to get Luke ready to go.

I dressed Luke and did my usual last minute running around, making sure we had Gigi Blanket and cups for everyone, and that all the rats had been brushed out of their hairs. Since I had told them several times that were about load up the car, they were both standing ready at the door.

Then I heard the gag.

My spidey sense perked up and Luke started to cry. He gagged again as I swooped and scooped him to the kitchen floor like the super hero that I play on TV. Because they are well-trained vomiters, he leaned over and puked on the floor, just missing his shoes. Bless him; I didn't even have to change his clothes.

When he was finished, I wiped his face and hands and asked him, "What happened? Do you have junk in your throat?" (That's what we call sinus drainage, of which we've all had plenty.) He shook his head and said, in his saddest voice, "Noooo. Someone poooooooped!"

Well, that explained it. Since we were all ready to walk out the door to load the car, and not one of us had pooped, it had to be the dog, who was also waiting to go out for her last potty of the morning. I said, "Did Georgia poot?" He nodded emphatically, "Yes!"

I cleaned up the vomit and we finally got on our way. I was late to work, of course, but it was okay because I texted my boss to let him know:

"Running a little late. The dog farted on Luke so he threw up as we were walking out the door and traffic sucks. Happy Monday."

By the time I got to the office, The Vomiting Ropers and Their Stinking Dog were infamous.