My husband spent the afternoon off gallivanting around town without me or his two children. As my reward for tending the flock by myself in his absence, he decided to give me a heart attack. I came walking into the bedroom after an extended bubble bath. I was minding my own beeswax ready to finish off the last 20 pages of the book I'm reading so I can find out if Jane's planning to leave her husband for Sam. Except then I notice my husband sitting on the bed all teary eyed and then he mumbles something about his prized dog, Ike, and what sounded like the word "died."
Seriously, the dog's 11 years old. I'm mentally prepared for anything at any time. I immediately flipped my gourd and started crying and asking where and when. I was busy mentally picturing a dead dog in our living room. No really. I'm walking back and forth. There were some dramatic hand gestures and lots of hugging and even some shrieking about why he didn't get me out of the bathtub when it happened. That's when he mentioned that Ike had thrown up six times while I was in the bathroom. And I was all, And then what happened? And he was all, I cleaned it up. And then I was all, And? And he was all, He's resting in the living room and won't get up and walk in here.
Dude. It's too late at night to be freaking me the hell out. Dog's got an upset stomach. Further investigation revealed that his water dish looked awfully murky. And I don't mean dog fur floating in the water murky. I mean, what the hell's in there murky. I didn't call in a CSI team or anything but I'm thinking my two year old might have had something to do with it. Kid's been know to think that water dish is his own personal wading pool and/or science lab. And I gotta tell you, I think you'd puke six times, too, if some evil kid spilled hand sanitizer or something in your water. Although, hopefully no one declares you dead as a result. Because that freaks people out. Trust me.