...think I'm gonna heave...
Yesterday began a week of celebrations for Mook A's birthday. I know this sounds crazy given that he's just a Mook, but apparently all of his friends are separate friends and either never meet each other or can't stand each other so he gets a whole bunch of different lunches and outings from each one and yesterday he was off to his sister's for a BBQ. Mook B was going too, of course, and they decided to take me.
I love to get out of the house, but it had been a long time since I'd been in the car (not since they took me home from the pound, actually—and I was stoned out of my gourd then from the operation). But it was an outing and I was excited! Mook A sat me on his lap in the front seat while Mook B drove.
It was slow going because there was some idiot biking event in the city and every fucking street had a detour and the streets we detoured onto were bumpy and windy. It wasn't long before I was getting that feeling.
You know when your mouth starts filling up with saliva and suddenly it's too hot? And then your head starts to get a little zingy—little tiny flashes going off which make you overreact to noises and make you a little hotter? And then the saliva gets to be so much that you start gulping it down and that doesn't feel good, but if you don't gulp it down you drool a lot and then you're gulping and the heat and the little zings in your head...
I didn't even chug—that thing in your stomach which warns you that what went down is on its way back up—it just happened and before you know it, Mook A and a good deal of the rented car was covered with the breakfast I had eaten five hours before. I was sort of amazed that there was so much undigested kibble left in my stomach! The body is an amazing thing, isn't it? Of course Mook A wasn't nearly as amazed as I was, 'cause all of his clothes—shirt, sweater and pants—were covered in used food. Mook B nearly swerved off the road, but by this time we were on the highway and there was not much anyone could do. Mook A said, "Just get me to my sister's!"
All I wanted to do was get away from the mess cause, let's face it, I'm a white dog and this stuff was sticky and threatening to get on my fur. I don't give a fuck about what the Mook looks like, but when I go a-visitin' I want to look nice.
But In my attempts to get away from the mess, I got that feeling again. Little belches were coming up, the saliva was backing up again and—voilà! (as the Frogs say)—the rest of what I'd had for breakfast and some odds and ends I'd nibbled off the floor decided to reappear. This time it ran down Mook A's pants.
Then the oddest thing happened: Mook A started to laugh; laugh like mad and "mad" is the operative word. Suddenly all I wanted to do was get out of that car and away from him. When we finally got to the sister's house, Mook B took my leash, jumped me off Mook A and we toddled into the sister's house. Mook A stayed in the car. The sister came to the door, was told what had happened and went out to her brother with towels and such.
While the Mooks and the sister took care of the car, I met the gang: the niece (whom I've talked about), the brother-in-law, the brother-in-law's sister and the lawn behind the house! The niece held onto the leash but I still had 15 feet of rope to wind around things and people and I just went crazy. I didn't feel sick anymore...this was going to be a blast!
Soon everyone was back outside in the yard; Mook A had changed into some borrowed cloths while they washed his, and I went exploring. But they wouldn't let me off the fucking leash so I figured I had to convince them otherwise. I wound the leash around a few flower pots, sent them flying and thought that might do it. Nope. Instead they just tied the leash to a post at the end of the yard and let me run as free as the 15 feet of rope would let me; that is: just short of them and the food. So I shrieked, and barked, and started digging up objects in the grass they didn't even know were there and eating them—a block of wood, an action toy, chips of mulch—all of them added to a nice salad of grass.
Finally they let me come up to them, but kept me on the leash as, in their heads, there were a million ways I could get out of the yard. So I just sat on laps—pointy, knee-sy laps which were always kept miles from the food. Worse, though, was that the Mooks had brought cookies with them but weren't giving me any! "No food! No food!" Mook A kept bellowing like some commandant in a work camp.
Then it was time to go, but this time they put a blanket they had borrowed from the sister in the back seat of the car and let me lie down there. That was nice, except I couldn't really see out and the road home was windy and bumpy and...
....you know when your mouth starts filling up with saliva and suddenly it's too hot? And then your head starts to get a little zingy—little tiny flashes going off which make you overreact to noises and make you a little hotter?...
Up came a block of wood, an action toy, chips of mulch and a lot of grass.
Then we were home and I was soooooooo tired.
But—boy!—it had been a fun day.
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