“Oh my god…” said the dog. “I shouldn’t have eaten that…”

(This occurred Sept 5, 2016… it showed up in my facebook memory feed. I would totally be willing to stay up all night with a dog with intestinal distress if it meant seeing Abby again…)

That damn dog climbed on the dining table last night and ate the icing off half of Beloved’s birthday cake while we were outside having dinner al fresco. It’s now 4am and she has a case of the squitters.

I let her out and, after she finished fouling the remnants on our lawn, she goes off on a hike up the back bank, which is huge. Shivering and sleepy, I tried to lure her back inside by calling out there was a treatie involved if she came in.

No response.

Ten minutes later, she comes inside.

Heads to the kitchen (treaties, dried chicken, are kept in the fridge). Oh, no, you wretched animal, the hell you get treaties for showing up on your own time.

I go upstairs.

She follows.

Five minutes later, she’s off the bed again.

Oh, God, is this case of the runs gonna last until daybreak??

I followed her downstairs.

Damn dog heads for the fridge.

I stomp back to bed.

She was downstairs for a while, and now she’s back, stomach making ominous noises. Beloved, with her post op knee replacement, can’t possibly take a turn. Unnngh!!!!