Puddles of Puppy Puke & Poo

My year old pup (well, at a year old, I imagine he's still in the puppy stage) likes to sleep in my bed.  I don't mind this because he is a mini foxy.  I'd sing a vastly different tune if he was an Irish wolfhound.  This morning, he made a funny noise and puked in the bed.  My husband and I sprang out like scalded cats, and removed the offending bedding.  Given it was 4.00am, by tacit agreement, and exhaustion, it was decided the sheets would be washed later.  When I got up, oh sweet Jesus!  There is nothing quite so stomach-wrenching as discovering the pup has had diarrhoea in the house.  And although I'm not necessarily a religious type, I did offer a quick prayer of thanks that we have floorboards and not carpet.  I am actually a resilient type.  Trust me on this: I have trekked the Himalayas and visited some very questionable toilets, and survived.  It was not my idea of a good time to crouch over a hole roughly hewn into the floor, with the shit splatters left by previous visitors, all of whom had been inflicted with traveller's diarrhoea, gracing the edges of the hole and extending a little way across the floor (at this stage I was thankful for my sturding trekking boots), and the nostrils burning with Hell's own stench.  On this trek, our sherpas occasionally dug a hole, around which a small tent was erected.  This wasn't so bad, but it was horrific if one of the trekkers had the tummy bug.  I remember standing guard for the friend with whom I travelled.  'Aaaargh, it's horrid!' she cried from within.  Business done, and pants duly back up, she cried, 'Let me out!', and being the good friend I was, I unzipped the tent, rather than leave her there to suffer.  One idyllic afternoon, we were sitting at the entrance to our tent, erected on the side of a mountain, and watched a yak walk past the toilet tent and its hoof became entangled in a guy rope, and you guessed it: the tent collapsed like a house of cards.  We were rolling about laughing, imagining how funny it would be if someone had been in there at the time, and the panicked manner in which they would be pulling up their pants before being rescued.  But back to today's story.  My poor tummy was roiling and waving in comber-like swells, as I wiped up the, oh, don't worry; I'm not going to describe the appearance of the mess. 

This afternoon I was going to do some of my online training for work, but instead I've been mopping floors, and washing bedding.  I had to take the sheets outside and flick the vomit off, and for a moment toyed with the idea of going across the road and flicking puppy puke into the yard of that feral bogan who tears the tranquility asunder every second day by yelling obscenities at his missus.

And guess what?  I've just found a puddle of watery puppy poo that I missed earlier!  Off a-cleaning I will go.