I am awakened by a large, whimpering dog standing next to my bed, his nose one inch from my face. Chandler is sick. He was puking and pooping liquid all day Wednesday and Tuesday. Now, in the middle of the night, he has to go again. So I get out of bed and try to quietly let him out the back door without waking Mark or Bette. Success, the door is opened without a moment to spare as Chandler scurries over to his favorite pooping bush and lets loose.
I have slipped back between the sheets, and already my eyes are heavy with sleep when I feel Bette walking around on my legs. I tell her to lay down, but she has other things on her mind. I hear the jingle of the tags on her collar as she jumps off the bed and heads for the kitchen. If I lay in bed and ignore her, I can be sure to find a big pee puddle on her puppy pads in the morning. Or, I can continue with my futile efforts at breaking her of the habit of peeing in the house and let her out. I decide to not be lazy. Bette pees out in the dog run, and then runs back into the house where she snaps to attention in front of the bedroom dresser. She's waiting for the treat she believes she deserves for not peeing in the house.
I am once again awakened by the plaintive cries of Chandler. I open my eyes reluctantly to find that giant dog nose resting on the bed next to my face. The sound of my eyelids opening send him into a frenzy. Chandler runs to the back door, and again it seems that we have made it just in time.
A relieved Chandler has curled up on the floor, a very tired Alan has got back into bed, and a restless Bette has decided she has to pee again. I know that she doesn't have a tiny bladder because the size of the pee puddles she leaves indicates something on the order of nearly a gallon capacity. Again, I get up and let Bette out to pee. This time she has decided that she needs to find a new pee spot and proceeds to wander up and down the dog run, scratching here, smelling there, while I stand outside in my under pants holding a flashlight.
Again, Chandler is in distress. Again, I get out of bed and let him out. This time he not only poops but also pukes.
I slip back into bed, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But Bette doesn't stir. She remains snuggled up against Mark, sound asleep.
I think I hear Chandler whining to go out. I convince myself that I don't hear him.
I am awakened by the jingle of Bette's collar as she leaps off the bed. I turn over and pull the covers up to my chin.
It's time to get up and walk the dogs. They are both asleep and do not stir at all. I get up anyway and walk out into the living room to put on my shoes. There is a giant pile of dog vomit on the floor. Over in the sun room, on the puppy pads, are three huge puddles of dog pee. I awaken the dogs and make them walk around the block anyway.
I slug down a shot glass of ZzzQuil and then sit down with a vodka cocktail to watch The Daily Show.
Sleep, sweet sleep, with just a little bit of drool running down my chin.