Not For The Weak of Stomach

Having just arrived home from Phoenix tonight, we're tired, my mom and sisters and I. At 10:30 we are all so exhausted, in fact, that we decide to call it a day and head to bed. As is customary, my sisters took Bailey (our Bichon-Maltese) to bed with them, and I took my little buddy Wesley (our Westhighland Terrier) to bed with me. Girls in one room, boys in the other.

I am having trouble getting comfortable enough to sleep, but I notice right away that something isn't right with Wesley. He's not falling asleep like he usually does. Normally, within 10 minutes of lying down under the covers at the foot of the bed he's out like a light and sleeps like a rock. Not tonight. Tonight Wesley is fidgety, as if he too is having trouble getting comfortable.

Eventually Wesley does something strange. He moves out from under the covers and sits on top of them -- which isn't unsual; at some point in the night he always does this -- but the thing that catches my attention is that after changing location he doesn't lay down again. He just sits there and stares into the dark. I figure he's probably just not tired yet and roll over, trying to get comfortable and fighting the nagging sense that insomnia and I are going to have one of our rare evenings together tonight.

Suddenly Wesley leaps off the bed onto the floor, whimpers, and I hear a gurgling sound. My heart drops into my stomach as I realize what's coming. There are three parts to my realization: (1) He's sick, (2) something is going to come out of either the front or the back end of this dog, and (3) it's not going to be pretty. I'm already up and moving for the light switch. Please God, please, let it be the front end.

It's the back end.

There are some things in life that are beyond description. They are either so wonderful or so terrible that words to convey them simply cannot be found. The stench issuing forth with increasing intensity from Wesley's little midnight mistake is one of those things.

I take him downstairs (his ears are drooped and he's got this horribly guilty look on his face as if he wants to apologize) and confine him to the garage despite the chill. Then I head off in search of the Resolve, some paper towels, and some hot water.

I find all three and head back upstairs just in time to hear one of my sisters whisper "SICK!" and shut the door to their room, which is next door. I realize that the smell of this doggie-doo has actually woken them from sleep (in an adjacent room!!!!) and driven them into the hall to find out what's the matter. Wesley has been sick before and has had some stinkers in his many years, but never before has he reached such heights. This is what separates the men from the boys, the professionals from the amateurs. Tonight Wesley has taken his rightful place on the throne as king and the Circle of Life is finally complete.

I will spare you all the details of my attempts to clean this stuff up. Needless to say, Resolve and hot water was insufficient - this is a job for our rug shampooer, but that will have to wait till tomorrow morning. So now here I sit, 12:45 am, Wesley has been moved to the much warmer laundry room for the night, I've washed my hands no less than 4 times, and I'm wondering if I can stand to return to my bedroom for the night or if the couch is going to be a better idea.

Given the fact that it's looking like insomnia and I are going to get to know each other much better tonight, it probably doesn't matter.