Fruity Drinks and the Adventures of Sick Puppy Parents.

This morning has been a little hectic, to say the least.

It's about 5 AM and I'm dreaming. In my dream, I'm sitting on the beach in Waikiki (4 more days!), with a fun fruity drink- the kind served with an umbrella- and a good book; the waves crashing all around me, Husband sitting close by under an actual umbrella, with a frisbee at his feet. Relaxation at it's finest.

Then Husband turns on a lamp in our bedroom and I wake up. Confused. He doesn't usually turn on any lights. Since he gets up so much earlier than I do, he usually tip-toes around so as to not wake me, which I appreciate. So he turns on a lamp in our room, and I'm all half-asleep, half-beach-chair-ridden, and I sit up, and see him sitting in front of Puppy's crate with a paper plate cut in half, scooping chunks off the floor.

So I get up and inspect the situation. Pups is sitting all the way in the back of her crate, up against the back wall, while her pillow and towel is covered in brown, nasty, dog-food-chunk vomit. It smells bad.

She doesn't look like she's too bad off, but it's clear that her legs are covered in the nasty stuff. So I suggest that instead of letting her out of her crate in our bedroom, we carry her house to the back door and let her go straight out into the open world (read: not our carpet).

And go she does. With passion. She threw up one more time, then proceeded to have at least six squat-instances of doggy diarrhea.

Two thoughts here:

1. I didn't realize so much poo could live inside such a small dog.
2. I'm SO happy and proud that she managed to hold that in until she got out of her house.

So she and I walk around a little more and she tried several more times to potty.

All the while, Husband brought her crate back inside and was thoroughly cleaning the inside and outside of it. He made the executive decision to count our losses on the towel and pillow.

Then the real challenge presented itself. Washing the dog.

Long story short, you'd think I was trying to hurt her, with the way she cried and tried to get out of the utility sink. After twenty really difficult minutes, I'd finally gotten the last of the shampoo out of her fur and I let her run free through the garage and yard (where she pottied AGAIN).

I brought her back inside wrapped up in a towel and we closed ourselves in the bathroom.

She spent the rest of the morning fairly traumatized. She just sat and stared at Husband and I as we rushed around trying to get back into the regular groove of morning. I felt bad when I had to put her in her house without a pillow or blanket, but luckily it's only for one day.

I still only got to work 30 minute later than usual, which is really good considering the dog walking, dog bathing, my shower, making lunches, getting dressed, and then still sitting in line to get through Gate 9 at the Arsenal.