Big Doodle is a good-time kind of dude.
He hasn’t met you yet, but he loves you. He wants to be with you all the time. He wants to share everything with you.
This is why Big Doodle always tells me when he’s gotten a drink. More often than not, I have gooey, wet patches on my legs, because he’s oh-so-thoughtfully let me know when he’s quenched his thirst. He has an impressive, sponge-like beard that really gets the message across.
So, it was no surprise last night when Big Doodle sauntered over to the couch and put his wet chin on my lap. But it was a bit of a shock when he coughed.
It was loud. And it was productive.
My 90-pound labradoodle coughed up a rabbit turd. Onto my person. And then just sauntered on his merry way.
At first, I thought, “Oh, look! A tapioca ball from bubble tea!” But then I realized that Big Doodle hasn’t ever had bubble tea, and probably didn’t drive to the Chinese restaurant to get me a bubble tea because, dude, he doesn’t even have thumbs, much less a driver’s license.
Then, I had to face the fact that my child had coughed up shit onto my person. And that shit was buoyant, and literally bounced off my shoulder and into my lap before I managed to catch it with my bare hand.
So, that meant multiple poo contact points, plus poo in hand.
My Guy, ever helpful, could not stop laughing. He also couldn’t stop laughing when, throughout the evening, I kept turning to him and asking, “Did the dog really puke poo onto my person? Did that really happen?”
Yes, yes it really did.
Like most moments in life, this made me appreciate my mom even more. When I was about 7 years old, I felt compelled to tell her that my stomach was upset. Except that when I opened my mouth to tell her, I kind of barfed all over her … and the tablecloth she was cross stitching for my cousin’s wedding.
You know how you can’t wash pre-printed cross-stitch fabric because then the pattern will wash off?
Yeah. We had a long talk about how sometimes, it’s OK to take action – like throwing up in the bathroom – without telling Mom first.
Somehow, my mom got the vomit off the tablecloth and finished the cross stitching, and no one was the wiser. My cousin’s marriage didn’t last, but, well, that can’t necessarily be tied to me puking on her tablecloth, now can it?
So, Mom? I’m sorry for the surprise puke attack. At least I hadn’t been eating rabbit turds. You’re welcome. And I’m sorry.