I say Mickey is my son's dog, true, though he he, Mickey spends the majority of my waking hours with me, literally underfoot. He even sleeps on my bed. Which brings me to the story. All in all, Mickey's a good boy, very affectionate, and NEVER takes the house for granted, and by that I mean not using it as his personal outhouse. He always communicates to us when he needs to go out. Yesterday, he'd whine and indicate it was time to go out. I'd walk to the door, open it, he'd stick his head out, sniff, and retreat. Three times we danced this tango. Three times he refused to go out. Still don't know what he smelled, or sensed. But he does that from time to time.
Forgot to mention that Mickey is afraid of his shadow. If an intruder entered the house, and there was room for one in the closet, somebody better have some strong air freshener, cause I'd be left out in the cold. Not only would Mickey run in the closet, but he'd lock me out!
By now, it's one o'clock p.m., and it's my bewitching hour. In other words, - bedtime. Since I've been on midnights the highlight of many of my days is settling into my bed for a long sleep. Like Rip Van Winkle. LOL! Fate had other plans yesterday. No sooner had I gotten comfortable, than Mickey blinded in and onto the bed. Few minutes pass, and I hear a much dreaded sound....heaving, as in the heaving that prefaces a spate of vomiting. I try to jump up, but get tangled up in Mickey who is lying across the foot of my bed, almost convulsing with his heaving. Still trying to get my legs out from under him, I 'm saying, "Let's go out Mickey. Let's go out Mickey." Poor boy, he can't move. He's caught up in the moment, vomiting onto my bed. Yuck! Yuck! Yuck!
We finally disengage, I let him out, return to my room, and want to cry. Peace has been shot to hell.in a basket. I'm now wide awake. I have a mess on my hands, and almost everything had to be changed, - comforter, blanket, and just for good measure, the sheets.
A few minutes later, Mickey bounds in, and goes directly to his food dish. Guess he just needed to get a load out. Guess I needed to get one off too, - off the bed, and into the washer!
Did I learn anything from this experience? Most definitely. I know now that Mickey must be treated as a young child. Sometimes when they have to 'go', all the signs are there, but you mention bathroom, and it's "No, I don't have to go." The next time Mickey signals he needs to go out, he goes, - someway, somehow, somewhere, by hook or crook!
Like a new baby, Mickey would get his own cradle after that
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