That sound

When I let the dogs out yesterday morning, Jamie must have spent the entire time eating grass because he came in the house, went directly to the living room (carpeted) and barfed up about a half bale of grass.

Sigh. Could he not barf on the vinyl floor in the kitchen?

No. It has to be on the carpet.

But he apparently felt a lot better for his efforts and was all waggy tail and squinty eyes so I forgave him his sins and gave him his breakfast.

Later, while washing dishes, I heard the dreaded sound. You know the one. It is the pre-barfing sound, that horrible retching noise that you know spells doom. It can wake you from a dead sleep at night and send you sprinting through the house in what is usually a futile attempt to MAKE IT STOP. The sound can make you drop whatever you are doing immediately.

The sound makes you start yelling "Noooooooooo!" like that is actually going to make it stop. Once the launch sequence has been initiated, there is no turning back. The best you can hope for is to be able to shove the offending party A) off the carpet and onto the vinyl or B) out the door in time.

I have given up trying to get dogs out of the house in time. That pretty much ended the day I went to yank open the dining room door and the door knob came off in my hand. I stood there and stared in alternating horror at the beautiful turn-of-the-century cut glass door knob that was no longer attached to the door and Connor, who was heaving his guts out all over the dining room carpet.

With the shelties, I was occasionally able to scoop them up and race out of the house. With Jamie at 60 lbs. and Phoenix at 53 lbs., that isn't going to happen. Plus, Phoenix never throws up. Never. He turns 4 next month and I think I've seen that dog barf once in his life. But I digress.

Back to Jamie. He had barfed up some more grass (good grief, I didn't know we had that much grass left in the yard!) and part of his breakfast. He appeared quite happy about the situation. He trotted off, had a drink and started chasing Phoenix around the house.

I cleaned things up. It was on the carpet. Again. Of course.

A little later, I was puttering around when . . . again . . . I heard the sound.

Oh for the love of doG! Noooooooo!

I ran into the dining room. No Jamie.

I ran into the living room. No Jamie.

I checked the bedroom. No Jamie.

WTF?

I followed the sound back to the living room.

Jamie was behind the entertainment center. I have NO FREAKING IDEA how he got back there, but there he was, apparently barfing up his toenails.

Do you know what is behind our entertainment center?

A lot of electrical cords.

A furnace vent.

Carpet.

They were now all covered in dog vomit. Massive amounts of it. How could this much stuff come out of one dog? His one cup of breakfast kibble and hard boiled egg had morphed into about half a gallon of of slimy, gelatinous gunk.

It was dripping into the furnace vent.

I said a lot of very bad words.

Jamie looked repentant. He wagged his tail.

I put him outdoors.

I moved the entertainment center, which thank heaven is on wheels.

I got a pair of pliers and pulled the furnace vent out of the floor, took it to the shower and washed it off. Then I cleaned dog barf out of the furnace duct. In an entire lifetime spent with dogs, I have never cleaned dog barf out of a furnace duct. I am not sure this is something I would list on a resumé.

I cleaned off all the power cords and scrubbed the carpet. By the way, I recommend Resolve spray carpet cleaner.

Occasionally I checked out the window to see what Jamie was doing. Apparently he felt fine. He was dancing from paw to paw on the patio, staring at the back door in hopes of coming back in.

That was 24 hours ago. No more barfing has ensued. Jamie had a small meal of hamburger and rice last night and another this morning. I have not seen either one reappear. It is a very good day.