It is absolutely true what they say about dogs being good training for kids. And anyone who says otherwise obviously doesn't have one.
Last night, Toby was acting a little more fidgety than usual when all of us were attempting to go to sleep. Normally he picks a spot at the foot of the bed, flops down and doesn't stir for hours. Instead, he roamed the bed, walking over us at random, seemingly trying to get comfortable.
"I hope Toby's alright," Jer said.
"Yeah, he's probably just hot or something."
Little did I know how wrong I was. I'm not sure if it was all the running around he's done over the past two days or whether it was the combination of that and some of the steak we gave him on Mother's Day. Whatever it was, Toby got sick multiple times throughout the night.
Although he has an abounding reserve of energy, it isn't unheard of for him to sleep 13 uninterrupted hours at a time. So when I heard him jumping off the bed at 1 a.m., I knew something was up.
Figuring he had to go outside, I got up to use the bathroom, as well. But when I opened the door, he didn't follow -- another extreme rarity. When I came back, he was curled up on the floor on a blanket -- also something he never does. He always whines to be picked back up and put on the bed.
At that point, I didn't think much of it, just picked him up and got back into bed.
A few hours later, I heard him jump off again. This time, I flew out of bed, turned on the lights and inspected the floor, thinking he had defied my attempt at letting him outside, instead deciding to go right in the house.
I found three piles of diarrhea of varying consistency and one very sick Toby cowering in the corner because he knew he'd been bad.
Although groggy and extremely frustrated, I cleaned everything up, one spot at a time, soothed Toby and put him back in bed.
A few hours later, I heard him jump off the bed for a third time. How I managed to even pick up on such a subtle noise or spring out of a dead sleep every time is beyond me. I guess I just knew he needed help. Not to mention quick action to get him outside.
This time we made it. I carried him the entire way and even walked him down into the grass. He got sick again and then started eating grass with gusto. And every dog owner knows that when dogs start eating grass, they're attempting to calm their stomach.
I let him have a little, but I stopped him much sooner than he would've liked. I don't know the guidelines on that sort of thing, but it seemed like it would just overwhelm his delicate system at the moment.
I was right. Less than 45 minutes later, we were out of bed again as he hacked up all the grass in a disgusting frothy mess.
Fortunately, that was the end of it. We slept in a little later than usual to make up for the horrible night, and Toby seems to be back to his usual exuberant self this morning.
I'm a little worse for wear, but I know I haven't seen anything yet.