Warning: Ickiness Ahead

If you have a delicate stomach, darling one, please, please read no further. Under other circumstances, I might be able to discuss last night's debacle in a more tasteful manner, but right now, I'm too darn tired to employ any such socially acceptable communication. You understand.

Get comfy. Tired doesn't mean silent for me. I think you already knew this, too.

I had gotten to bed late-ish. Bad idea on a Sunday night, with the 12+ hour shift looming over me the next day, but...I don't claim to be that clever, do I? I was getting ready to email the recipe for Nurse Wendy's birthday cake [it's a bundt] when Roommate tapped on my bedroom door.

"Did Bailey get in to anything?"

I had been in the kitchen earlier, preparing for the first Soup Day of the season, so this was a reasonable question. I told Roommate I felt he hadn't and was informed that Bailey had been "sick" in the bed.

Yeah. That kind of sick.

I climbed out of bed and hurried into Roommate's room to find that Bailey had, indeed, been repeatedly ill, most frequently while still under the covers. Some on top of the covers. Still more on the bedroom carpet.

Did I mention that Roommate had just stripped and remade her bed that very evening? Yeah.

Bailey was so distressed, in fact, that he ran into the living room and vomited there. Several times. Since his evening would surely be incomplete with only vomit as his visitor, diarrhea was then invited to the party. We found him huddled under the dining room table, dribbling bile and foam.

He's fine. As we were washing the sheets, the mattress cover, the comforter cover, the down comforter, several blankets and countless towels, he crept over to the couch and had snuggle time with me, and the next morning, was completely himself again.

Roommate spent some deep and meaningful time with the steam cleaner and once again, peace and harmony reigns over the household.

Gah.

Dogs. Still easier than kids. Right?