Lightning, thunder and puke

It’s no surprised that being awoken by a thunderstorm a mere hour before your alarm goes off is not an enjoyable experience. It happened this morning. Thunder, lightning, pouring rain. I was really hoping, as I lay in bed, that the tree we’ve been meaning to have cut down would not fall on our house, crushing us into our 500 thread count sheets. The tree is still standing, though. Score! However, in the midst of Mother Nature throwing a hissy fit at 5 a.m., I heard the unmistakable sound of dry heaving. No, it wasn’t coming from my own throat. Not even from Derek’s throat. It was our puppy. We let her sleep on her little doggie bed on our bedroom floor and we really don’t have any problems. However, the grass she ate at Grandpa’s birthday a full 12 hours prior, apparently did not sit well with her. She started heaving. I sprung from the bed, in the pitch dark, grabbed the garbage can (a pretty impressive feat considering I didn’t have my glasses on), but it was too late. Yep, one pile of runny doggie puke. ….And another. Lovely. Considering it was dark except for the occasional lightning strike and again, no spectacles, I was fully convinced I was moments away from stepping into her bile.
“DEREK!! I’m going to step in her puke!!! I can’t see!!!”
He got up and flipped on the light, momentarily blinding all three of us. I took Lola out into the kitchen to get her some water while he, the saint that he is, CLEANED UP THE PUKE.
And all is right with the world.

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