Funny how God works. Just as I’m sitting there, thinking, “hmmm… no one liked me humping a washing machine. What should I write about?” something happens.
Remember my pugs? Familiarize yourself. Ready? Ok. Harles gets kind of gaggy sometimes, and makes throwing up noises without throwing up. 49 out of 50 times, it’s just the noise. This time? Puke. They were laying in a pug pile next to me on the couch, and I thought nothing of his pukey-noise until I realized it was in fact puke. That’s why we have a washable protective cover on our couch. (That, and Sophie’s neurotic licking, but that’s another story.) Where did Harley puke?
All. Over. Sophie. (And Sophie? Had no idea.)
I had my hands full leading Sophie into the kitchen to clean her, making sure Harley was ok, and attempting to keep Dixie from eating the puke (puppy mill dogs will do strange things) and couldn’t take a pic. But I went ahead and made an illustration for you.
Anyone who says that having dogs isn’t a big deal or a lot of work? Crazy. I should TOTALLY be allowed to engage in mommy conversations because I’m pretty sure no mothers have to worry about one kid puking on another, that kid not NOTICING, and a third kid thinking it’s free dinner.
I washed Sophie’s torso and tail, furminated her, and then sprayed her with some doggy fragrance. (Yes, we have dog fragrance. It’s an all-natural dog freshener spray. Judge away.) Big Daddy slept through this. I deserve an award of pug-momma awesomeness.