Yakkety Yak

Not much to post today. I can't believe I'm sharing this story but here it is: This afternoon Bosley yakked on my head. Now, I don't know if you've ever seen a Great Dane vomit, but it's a sight both horrific and awesome. We're talking half a gallon of soupy dog food, Cheeto remnants, grass, and mud exploding on the back of my head with each lurch. For the record, he lurched 2.5 times.

You're probably asking yourself, "How the hell did the dog hit the back of her head, and why the hell didn't she move?"

Answer: I like to sit on the floor in front of my coffee table with my laptop resting on the surface, legs stretched out beneath the table. When I'm in that position, I'm basically rendered immobile. Or, at least, it's tough to move quickly. Also Bosley likes to sit next to me and rest his chin on the top of my head. I'm not sure why he does that, but whatever.

It was a nice afternoon so I left the back door open so Bos could run back and forth between the house and the backyard. It's easier than getting up every ten minutes to open the door. Normally I take away his food and water when he's racing around the back yard. (Danes can develop bloat and torsion if they do a lot of running after eatng. Bloat and torsion can be fatal and usually is.) I totally spaced today so he was able to eat and drink and run around. He raced into the living room, skidded into the couch, and then slammed his drool-dripping chin onto my head. I sighed and gave him a soft shove on the shoulder. He grumbled and burped (smelled like burnt tires, I swear) and then dry heaved. I tried to clamber away, but there was no time. I got hosed.

I'm sooooo glad that I'm not a sympathetic puker. To be fair to Bos, dog yak isn't the worst thing that I've been sprayed with in my lifetime. During high school, I spent hundreds of hours in the back of an ambulance and during that time I was hosed/splashed/sprayed/misted with various bodily fluids including but not limited to: a blood geyser caused by a shotgun wound to the head (that was my first call ever, btw), a four year old with a hellacious tummy ache and apparently a penchant for 7Up and animal crackers, the clumpy yellow contents of an exploding NG tube (happened maybe ten minutes into a fifty minute transport,) poo vomit from an elderly patient with some horrendous kind of blockage that caused her poo to literally back up and well you get the picture, and the sympathetic vomit from the medic riding the poo vomit call with me.

In case you're wondering, I don't miss those days. Not one bit. I'm quite content to concern myself the gastric explosions of Bos, on occasion Dave-o, and maybe someday kids.