My dog goes into these cycles where she throws up constantly, and she’s in one right now. My husband was peacefully curled up on the couch watching TV when I heard him bellow, “Awg, the dog barfed on the couch.”
I jumped up because I’m the designated dog throw-up remover, since I was the one who wanted the dog. I found a slimy wet pile with a streak where his bare foot had carved a path like the wake of a boat. He limped off to scour the foot with bleach, and I cleaned up the 100th pile of the day.
We don’t know why she gets this way. She can go days without even burping, and then one day I wake up to the sound of her stomach. It’s growls so loud – it sounds like something fierce and miserable is alive in there, and it’s got a microphone.
Later, she doesn’t eat her food. This is a very bad sign. She tries to bury the food with her nose. She pretends to cover it with fake dirt, and her nose keeps hitting the bowl, lifting it in the air so that it comes down with a bang like hard plastic dropping on hard tile. This goes on forever. I realize she has instincts that are causing her “bury” the uneaten food lest some wild animal appear and scarf it up, but can’t she see that there is no dirt?
Nine times out of ten, if she doesn’t eat, it means her stomach is really upset and she’ll be expunging all of yesterday’s food for the next several hours. She goes outside and eats grass, which I’ve heard is supposed to soothe the stomach but for her it’s like turbo emesis. FYI emesis is the Greek word for vomit. Barf is the Latin word. Ralph is the French word.
When the vomit fountain starts flowing, it comes out in erratic spurts. Sometimes there’s just a spot here and there. Others, there is a pool that frogs could play in. Birds could take a bath in there, and so on. For a 9-pound dog, she’s got quite a reservoir.
The carpet looks like it’s got land mines all over it. I wipe them quickly with some anti-doggie germ stuff but the evidence lingers for hours until it dries. Everyone who has come to our house has either witnessed her throwing up, or has been the victim of a barf blast. My brother was over the other day and decided to rest his back by lying on the floor. He started to lay his head down but paused, looking around. “I bet there’s not one square inch of this carpet that hasn’t been covered in that dog’s throw up.”
“Yeah, and more than once,” I said. He put his head down anyway, and the dog jumped on his stomach and promptly threw up a white, slimy pile on his crotch.
“Oh my gosh, that looks just like…” I didn’t say any more because I’m making this part up. But all the other stuff I’ve written is true, if you can believe that.
I asked my daughter, “What should I blog about?” and she said, as she dodged one of the wet piles, “Write about that dog barfing.” So I did. Hope you enjoyed it. If you ever come to my house, don’t take off your shoes, and guard your crotch.