Awakening from my slumbers I hear a sound. It's a sound that I recognize.
Goddamnit, that's the sound of a dog vomiting and it's right next my face. I immediately go into the midnight, dog vomit, fire drill. I reach over and flip all the lights on full brightness, grab the dog, Ms. Bette, and run her towards the kitchen as she spews like a fur covered fire hose.
Bette has a habit of drinking too much water. She sticks her face in the dog water bowl, starts drinking, and she doesn't stop until she is so full that her belly is taut as a balloon. Usually she does this at least once in the middle of the night. The problem is that when she jumps back up onto the bed, if she doesn't land just right, she can't hold it in. This is what happened last night. So there I was with all the bedroom lights on, my pillow soaked with a mixture of water and dog stomach innards, and a large wet spot on the back of my tee shirt. I swapped the pillow out for a dry one, changed my tee shirt, and blotted up all the vomit. Meanwhile, over on the other half of the bed, Mark lay there with his back to all the drama that unfolded, feigning sleep. I crawled back into bed, followed closely by both dogs, and turned out the lights. Over on the other side of the bed, from out of the dark, came Mark's squeaky voice. "Thank god she didn't puke on me."