Happy Puke Day Luke

The whole family has been lounging, really seriously lounging since boxing day. The boys have dedicated themselves to their new video games with an occasional break to carry on a good-natured spat. Steve has been plinking around with some programming of his own, and I've gotten back to my knitting for the first time since I hurt my shoulder playing hockey. The dogs don't know what to do with all of this family time and sometimes get booted out for a little fresh air due to an excess of enthusiasm for tearing around the house during quiet hour.

On Saturday they spent some time out of doors while I was busy with a project. When Luke came in, he had a strangely swollen look about his midsection. Thinking I was imagining things, I asked Steve if the pup looked bloated to him too. Steve has a tendency to dismiss my concerns about the health of the children and animals, knowing that I am often too quick to worry. This time however, he was in total agreement. Luke seemed otherwise cheerful, if not a bit slow-moving, so I figured that watchful waiting was the best option. The next time the dogs went out, they made a bee-line around the garage and out of sight. Hurrying after them, the source of the bloat was revealed. The little bastards had knocked over a trash bag set on top of the can which had become too full to hold it. Inside was a chicken carcass and five or six large fat-soaked pieces of potato that had cooked with it. I say "was" because by the time we discovered what they had done, these items had disappeared without a trace.

Realizing what had occurred, Steve felt the midsection of the much-furrier Bo to see if his belly was as distended as Luke's. It was. Both dogs spent the rest of the afternoon in a rather subdued state. They tried, halfheartedly, to play together, but the first bump from Bo sent Luke sprawling on his side with a piglike grunt, so they gave up in favor of a nap. Asleep at Steve's feet after dinner, Luke leapt up and bolted to the door, vomiting up a copious amount of chicken carcass just short of the exit. The next day he was purging chicken at the other end. Bo, being of somewhat sterner constitution or perhaps having eaten less chicken, seemed to have escaped with few foul effects. It wasn't until the following evening that he returned to the house with a good-sized bun of feces clinging to the area under his tail that the ghost of chicken past came to haunt us. Bo, Steve, and a pair of scissors spent a little quality time together on the back porch to remedy that situation.

Later that night I realized that Luke's first birthday, on December 27th, had passed unnoticed and uncelebrated. We felt a little badly until we realized that he and Bo had celebrated it in dog-fashion by partying 'till they popped at the trash can. Happy birthday Luke! May you make it to your second birthday without a repeat of that particular incident.