It happens every so often. I’ve posted about it before. There are times–mysterious, sacred, spiritual times–when all the house critters are united by a common thread . . . And they all start puking.
The Puke Moon.
We are currently under the influence of The Puke Moon.
We had a disastrous weekend. I will spare you the details but highlights include me getting stung in the neck by a bumblebee, Cal spontaneously freaking out while alone and scratching the crap out of our bedroom door while we were away, and Schmoop gesticulating in such a manner that he dislodged his favorite sunglasses from the top of his head, sending them flying out the window of the car, on the parkway, where they were immediately run over.
So, as a kind gesture to erase the negative juju, Schmoop bought the pups some all-natural cheese cookies yesterday. We feed raw, and the pupsnacks are generally liver or kidney jerky and something called a lamb puff, so the cheesey cookies, being grain-based, were the equivalent of doggie junk food. A little can’t kill them, right?
As it turns out, no, won’t kill them. It will make them turn their stomachs inside out, though.
Shortly after eating his 3 cookies, Cal started with the lip licking. It died down, though, and I charged brazenly ahead with critter dinner. That was a bad idea. Because during human dinner on the patio, Cal became frantic, trying to eat my dead plants, and the grill cover, and neurotically licking the concrete floor, and I knew what was coming as frantic consumption attempts only ever lead one place with him: the evacuation of more food than he could ever possibly have eaten–in his entire life, let alone for dinner–by volume.
Calvin is magical, he creates matter. Being the source of All Things in the universe may explain his mental state. We may be star dust, but star dust is actually Calvin poop.
After puking all over the place the boy pup settled . . . Until 10:30. When the frantic need to consume returned. Except there was nothing left in him to evacuate, so I hauled myself out of bed and we came downstairs where I could keep an eye on him as he rode out the nausea. By happenstance, he finally settled around 1:30, about 30 minutes after I finally gave him a Gas-X, and a little later we tottered back upstairs.
And then Karmann woke me at 6. Puking.
And then at 11, Mort puked twice.
So I’m calling it: Puke Moon. Nigel hasn’t started yet, but he can’t possibly be far behind.
So excited for the next 12 hours!