Turkey

The kids had a friend ove on Sunday.

Well, the kid's dad wanted to watch the football game, and we have a good setup for it. So his little boy came, too.

The kids were all playing with swords, jumping around yelling, generally being loud and rambunctious. And of course, that leads us to the part where one kid emerged in tears because someone actually HIT HIM with the sword, the swords they have been swinging around like mad men, aiming at each other, poking at each other, and ignoring warnings about.

So I went onto the porch, which was where the boys were, and the boy's father and I removed the swords from the boys, and told the boys to find something else to do.

There was a good deal of grumbling, but eventually all of the boys left the porch, and we closed the door.

And about twenty minutes later,  heard the dog barking to be let in.

So I went to the door to the deck, only Gunther wasn't there. I was confused. He barked again. The bark was coming from the porch.

The dog had been shut in the porch for twenty minutes.

This is the part where I remind / tell you that the porch was where we had been storing the leftover thanksgiving turkey.

HAD been.

Because if you give Gunther 20 minutes, apparently, he can work out how to nudge off the top cover of the deep roasting pan, and he will then eat the top half of the turkey until, for some reason, he wants to distance himself from it.

He ran away from me as soon as I made the discovery, and I assumed that would be the end of it, more or less.

Only it turned out to be less.

Because even though nothing bad happened all that night, the next morning Gunther began to throw up.

And he kept throwing up.

All day.

On every rug we own.

Spreading the joy.

All.

Day.

Long.

With a kid you can say "Get in bed, here's a bucket to throw up in." You can say "try and make it to the bathroom."

With a cat, it's not enough mess to make it that much of a pain.

With a dog, there is no logic and no warning. He'll be walking along and suddenly he makes a noise like "ARCK." Gunther is a big dog. When he pukes, he pukes a LOT.

And he's old and it's cold out, so I couldn't leave him outside.

And when I tried shutting him in the bathroom, he just barked and barked and barked.

He's fine now. By the way. Which I guess is lucky, because he was the one stupid enough to eat half a turkey, and I was the one stuck cleaning up puke all day. I wasn't feeling very sorry for him.