8/01/2008

My Life Without A Dog Stumble Upon Digg It! Add to Delicious Add to Technorati

|

I don't know why, but I've been thinking a lot lately about a dog that I used to have. A barking whiny pure bred lap dog. He was a King Charles Cavalier Spaniel. Don't ask me why it was important for me to spend $1800 on a pure bred dog instead of getting one for $100 at the pound...I was young and stupid, and apparently had money to spend. Regardless of his flaws, we loved him and spoiled him.

His major flaw? He would eat anything. And by anything - I mean everything. Grass, his own poop, my underwear and small rodents. And by rodents - I mean still living.

Which brings me to my story.

It was a fine and bright Mother's Day. I was younger (pre-husband & baby) than I am now, and had spent the evening before out gallivanting, drinking and general merriment. However, me being the good daughter (a.k.a butt kisser) I am, the last thing I was going to do was call in drunk to my mother. She had asked for manual labor on this particular day, and the plan was to go over there and help her mulch her flower beds.

So the dog and I headed over, me with a marching band tooting 76 trombones in my head, and the dog happily slobbering on the car window. We walk through the gate, say our hellos to the parentals and I let the dog off his leash.

That was my first mistake.

No, that's wrong. My first mistake was having 47 beers the night before.

The dog shoots like a rocket for something that I can't see in the back of the yard. I notice his nose going to town inside some leaves and decide to go check it out and make sure he's not digging up flowers and such.

That was my third mistake.

The dog had swallowed a dead mouse, whole, and by the time I had reached him he was throwing it back up.

Now picture if you will, a dog retching an entire mouse in the leaves. His master on her knees, retching the home brew from the night before right next to him, and the masters mother gagging on the back steps.

Needless to say I totally shit on my Mother's Mothers Day. I spent the rest of the afternoon in the fetal position on her chaise lounge nursing a ginger ale.

Honestly, NO IDEA why I shared this story. My posts of late seem to be taking a turn into weird - what with throwing up dogs and vagina's - but hey, it's my blog, I'll do with it what I will.

Anyway, part of me misses that dog. My weak stomach does not.

5 comments:

Ms Picket To You said...

i think i love you.

MadWoman said...

Oh my, I think I just threw up a little in my mouth reading that. I have a horrible gag reflex and it barely withstood that little ditty of yours.

Big Kahuna said...

Damn ... I wish I could have been there.

I KNOW that I love you ...


Dad

Bill (not Jill) said...

This poignant story supports my common assertion that that there really should be dead mouse and vomit-themed Mother's Day cards.

tacitus said...

When did you lose the Rock?