I can go for years without vomiting. I have even eaten Arby's and McDonald's without vomiting. So why is it that my dogs can't go for more than a week without puking on the living room floor, and they do it so nonchalantly. Bette will be walking through the room, stop, give a couple of hacks, her entire dinner will end up on the floor, and she will walk away as if nothing happened. Meanwhile, Chandler is happier than a homeless man in a soup kitchen. All he sees on the living room rug is a hot meal.
Last night in bed, I was awakened by Bette's little feet trodding across my back. I could hear her tags jingle, jangle, as she made her way to the edge of the bed and jumped off. Almost as soon as she hit the ground I heard the splash.
"Hmmmf... snort, what's going on?"
"Nothing. Bette just barfed somewhere on the floor. Go back to sleep."
So I put on my slippers and fumbled my way into the kitchen to get the flashlight. Yes, that's how considerate a person I am. I didn't turn on the bedroom lights and awaken Mark. As my reward God let me not step in the giant pool of vomit as I made my way through the dark. As I wiped up Bette's barf with a wad of paper towels, I could pick out everything Bette had eaten the evening before. Her entire dinner was there. The dog treat that I had given her for not peeing in the house was there. Also mixed in among all that were the bits of cheese, crackers, melted ice cream, and every other snack that Mark had noshed on before going to bed. He doesn't understand that Bette isn't a bottomless pit that he must fill so that she will love him. He also never cleans up her puke piles. So I turned on the lights, and threw in a few extra goddamnits.