Dear Editor,
Naturally I fully intended to meet my weekly deadline and as usual, present you with a mind-boggling masterpiece of domestic wit and satire. But my dog ate it.
Okay I’m lying. But I did have to take Hank the Hound Dog on an emergency trip to the vet this afternoon, which technically “ate” up my writing time.
Now I know you’re gonna ask, “Well Karen, what’d you do all morning?”
My morning started out perfectly normal — Nugget the miniature dachshund hopped into bed with me as soon as my husband got out. She snuggled in and let me sleep until she told me she had to go outside. Except today she bypassed her standard face licking in favor of barfing on my freshly laundered bedspread. So even though linen laundering was not budgeted into my schedule, it ate up precious writing time.
After the load was on it’s way, I shuffled to my coffee maker, and realized I didn’t push the filter basket in all the way. One cup of transparent brew was in the carafe. The other three cups and grounds were overflowing from the filter basket. I poured the one salvageable cup, added my cream and sugar and promptly knocked it to the floor with the sleeve of my robe. Who knew one single cup of coffee could travel so far? Little creamy rivers ran down my grout lines carrying the grounds dripping from my counter. If Nugget wasn’t outside barfing I’d have her lick it up. I added mopping to my list of not scheduled chores today and brewed another pot.
No sooner had I settled myself in my office chair my son came running in, “Mom Mel’s throwing up!”
I raced to the family room and sure enough, the poor girl was so sick she didn’t have time to sit up let alone get off the couch and run for a non-freshly-cleaned-carpeted surface. I am never buying Fruitie Sugar Bomb Cereal again. Cereal should not include tidbits colored red or purple. Ever.
After researching “Red Carpet Stains” on the web, I ran to Target and transformed my cart into an arsenal of radical carpet cleaning products: commercial spot cleaners; vinegar; cornmeal; shaving cream; club soda; baking soda and borax. I should have just purchased a carpet knife and been done with it. Then I wouldn’t have spent more precious hours of writing time scrubbing and praying to St. Stainmaster.
So after I moved the couch to cover the now pink carpet spot, I sat down to whip out a column. That’s when Hank yelped, “Owie! Help me!” The non-licking, non-cuddly dog of our two, Hank limped over to me, licked my face, then snuggled his nose between my knees. And that’s how I ended up sitting on the floor of the vet’s office, with a shedding, trembling, snuggling, whimpering 55-pound hound dog on my lap. And no column.
