Dear Landlords, I Can Explain ...

This rainy Sunday I woke up to an awful, awful sound: my dog dry heaving. There's nothing worse than being half asleep, hearing the sound of your dog about to vomit and knowing -- knowing -- that damn animal is on the couch, or the rug, or somehow standing over a pile of freshly cleaned laundry.

So you leap out of bed and try to find the sick dog even though you don't have your contacts in and you almost fall down the stairs and you attempt to drag a convulsing 75 pound dog off the couch and on to the tile or if you're really good, outside.

It never works. Ever. In my 10 years of Dozer ownership she has never once vomited or shat somewhere easy to clean up, and I've never won the vomit race.

In today's case, she nailed both the couch and the rug. It was the rug by the door, so perhaps she was trying to move toward the outdoors. At least that's what I tell myself so I don't go into a rage and strangle her cute little neck.

Oh, and this was the day after she took a dump in the office.

So, dear landlords, I can explain: my dog's an asshole.

The perpetual mess machine