Dog Days

Yesterday I started my day out on a very wrong note -- sad, upset, worried. Not a healthy cocktail. Thankfully, my day became filled with distractions. Grace's preschool picnic took up our entire morning, and we had a lovely -- albeit hot hot hot -- day, with lots of friends and activities to keep us (sweaty and) busy. Oh yes ... and rather sunburned.

The sun and I do not get along very well. While I much prefer a sunny day to a rainy one, I burn very easily, and the heat quickly gets the best of me. Grace and I came home around 1:30, and after reading her a story, I was the one who promptly fell asleep for a recuperative nap (while she watched a movie). The phone rang an hour later, with a wonderful invitation from Michelle, my sister-in-law, for an afternoon in their new pool.

I quickly called Aidan's school, telling them not to put him on the bus, and I grabbed the swimming gear and ran back out the door. I threw Jack's food into a bowl, feeling a little guilty that we left him alone all morning (he sure let me have it with his "doggie cursing" when we got home), and I knew that he would be really ticked off for leaving him again. But hey ... he's a dog. He can deal with it.

The afternoon was just perfect -- therapeutic, relaxing, fun, distracting. I felt much better all around, and we finally made our way back home about 5:30. I was not prepared for the homecoming.

Jack resumed his doggie cursing as soon as he heard the key in the front door. Fine, fine ... whatever. But then I saw it ... a gigantic pile of puke on the living room carpet. It was huge -- I mean, absolutely mammoth. But what made matters worse was that ... well, it must have been sitting there for quite some time, in our very hot non-air conditioned house. It was baked-in vomit, and beyond nasty. But oh, it doesn't stop there ...

As I walked into the kitchen to grab the carpet cleaner and paper towels, something caught the corner of my eye. The kids' bedroom. For a second I couldn't figure out what I was looking at. And then everything came into focus ...

Not only was there two more piles of baked-in puke, but a section of their carpet had been eaten!

What the heck??!! Apparently Jack had gotten a hold of a seam and it began to unravel, like a sweater when you pull on a piece of it. He must have eaten quite a bit because the missing segments of carpet are rather large, although some of it did come up with Puke Pile #3. But the rest ... well, some of it came out in the yard this morning. I hope that's it.

I was furious. I had such a lovely, relaxing day, only to find myself now on my hands and knees, scrubbing nasty baked-in dog vomit. I yelled at Jack, who clearly knew he did something very bad. "How old do you think you are, Jack?!"

And then it hit me.

It was Jack's birthday.
He's now 11 years old.
That's 77 in human years.

A 77-year-old should know better than to rip up and eat a carpet, and then puke all over the place.
Maybe Jack didn't know it was his birthday, and that he's now 11. Maybe he thinks he's 1 again.

After I made that realization, I felt bad for yelling at my old dog on his birthday. I looked over at him, lying on the couch, looking mournfully at me with his big brown Beagle eyes. I gave him a hug.

Happy birthday, old boy.

(Apparently, though, he wants to continue his antics. He scooted all over the living room carpet this morning. Have you ever seen a dog scoot? It leaves a nasty trail. I wonder if he thinks he'll continue to get birthday leniency.)