Just as I was winding up the last post, all ticked off at the idea that good breeders dislike dogs, Tabitha staggered out of the bedroom and tottered over, looked at me and said “Ummm… I feel… I feel…” and then promptly threw up all over me. And the couch. And large portions of the floor. Clue had run for it at the first “Umm,” thus showing that dogs are far wiser than their people.
She’s all tucked in now with ice cream and ginger ale, Advil on board, the couch is (at least somewhat) cleaned, and I’m going to watch Cars with her and head to bed. May no one vomit on you in the night.