4am: I wake up to Rua my pride and joy barfing all over my bed, sheets, handmade quilt my aunt made me. Lovely. Immediately I strip the sheets, get a new set put the gross ones in a pile (potentially to burn) put a bowl of water in the bathroom with sweet barfing Rua and shut the door on her, ahhh...problem solved. Right.
6am :Open bathroom door, there is my sweet darling pooch drenched from ears to tail in her own pee, seriously...this is happening. Immediately I throw her in the bathtub, who doesn't want to give their pee soaked pup a bath before the sun rises.. As I try to will my feet not to slip and slide on the pee soaked tile I think to myself, this is why I don't have kids. I wasn't being particularly cruel to Rua, I may have dropped the F-bomb once or twice but I didn't spank her and tell her she was a bad dog, but still my attitude kind of sucked and definitely left something to be desired.
This also gave me time to reflect on my own mother, I have always had a bit of a chip on my shoulder that my mother wasn't June Cleaver, when I was sick and barfing on her carpet my ideal mother would say "there there, how's about some ginger ale and crackers" and in reality my mom had gotten pretty ticked that I couldn't make it to the bathroom in time, this was a terrible shortcoming of hers in my opinion....until now.
7am: Here I sit with a sleeping semi wet dog, and my guilty conscience and as soon as 8am rolls around I'm going to call my mom and tell her what a good job she did.