I'm at the dining room table working on the laptop. Suddenly, I hear what I immediately recognize as a pre-vom convulsion by my dog Lincoln in the dining room.
I run. I scream.
“HERE LINC. COME ON, LINC. LET’S GO, LINKY.”
I turn the corner to see him crouching under a chair, his rib cage bobbing up and down. He sees me run for the door and creeps like Spider-man over to go out.
I let him out, and he’s crouching and convulsing as he’s making his way to the front lawn. He looks like a low-rider Labrador.
Then he stops to pee. The pee instinct is apparently stronger than the vom instinct because the convulsions stop immediately. He then starts to notice the weather and what a nice day it is for a sniff.
He begins to act as if he never had to barf. He walks around, he sniffs the tree. He takes a tour of the great outdoors. The aromas are so much better in fresh air.
Then, you know, because he’s out there, he pulls into a hunch to dump on my neigbor's property line. I marvel at this precision. A surveyor using a plumb bob and a tripod with a scope couldn't hit the lot-line any more dead-on.
Anticipating a massive dook, I recoil and look away.
Fighting my instincts, I turn back to see as a small rectal nubbin emerge and drop daintily – nay, I say, nearly float – to the turf.
He turns, trots back to the house, comes through the door and takes over a square dog pad, where he remains in near narcosis for the rest of the morning.Posted by Jeff at October 23, 2008 04:30 PM | TrackBack