a pox on the house of camino?
It all began early last Saturday morning when Carl Weathers woke us up with some very audible pre-regurgitation heaving in his crate. I rolled out of bed and released him and was unable to get him outside before he began coughing up parts of an undigested winter glove. The carpet unfortunately bore the brunt of that black leather concoction, and we thought all would be well when he coughed up the remainder on the lawn.
He does this all the time. He is a six and a half year old dog, and he still coughs up a sock here and there the same way he did as a pup.
That is usually the end of it, but it wasn’t this time. He was lethargic and sickly all day, and we eventually took him to the 24 hour vet on Saturday night. X-rays revealed that he still had a blockage—a finger from the glove—that was preventing the natural course of the digestive system.
He remained there overnight and most of the day on Sunday receiving a number of enemas and other enticements to help him again perform his favorite backyard activity. He was understandably angry when I picked him up on Sunday night, and he ran right past me to greet total strangers sitting in the vet’s lobby. Then he wandered in my direction with indifference and the expression of a dog who feels violated. There was no way to explain to him the correlation of glove eating and intestinal blockage, but he eventually got hungry again and remembered that we are the providers of food.
By the way, it will cost you about four hundred bucks to have a dog with the cleanest colon in the county.
Speaking of clean colons…I was in a minor traffic accident this morning.
The lady whose jeep I inadvertently ran off the road was quite nice about it, as it was really not my fault, but the cop did have to blame someone. I was at the back of a line of cars when the driver of the lead car had the spontaneous desire to make a left hand turn, resulting in the chain reaction of quickly applied breaks. This doesn’t always work so well for the guy in the back, and I swerved to the right to avoid a pile-up.
Her jeep only suffered a flat tire and busted rim, and the Rexmobile came away with only a few dents, but what really made the occasion was receiving a ticket for a reckless lane change.
It was certainly a helluva way to start the day, and a fellow landscaper who had heard all about Carl Weathers’ bowels the day before said, “I guess the other shoe has dropped.” Then he added, “Unless these things come in threes.”
Everything in folklore comes in threes, but I don’t understand the business about dropping shoes. Can there be three dropping shoes?
I certainly hope not, as I will be flying out of state this weekend for one of my other half-jobs, and a third disaster waiting to happen is not something I want to travel with. I already HATE flying.
So illogical Rex spent the day waiting for something bad to happen.
I was head butted by a ghostly white Borzoi (also known as a Russian Wolfhound) while digging holes in a West Meade backyard, but that probably doesn’t count. He floated around the estate like a giant sheet of happy, yet pristine poster board and kept bringing us toys to play with him and then tried to help us dig our holes, but that isn’t on par with illogical Rex’s expectations.
He does this all the time. He is a six and a half year old dog, and he still coughs up a sock here and there the same way he did as a pup.
That is usually the end of it, but it wasn’t this time. He was lethargic and sickly all day, and we eventually took him to the 24 hour vet on Saturday night. X-rays revealed that he still had a blockage—a finger from the glove—that was preventing the natural course of the digestive system.
He remained there overnight and most of the day on Sunday receiving a number of enemas and other enticements to help him again perform his favorite backyard activity. He was understandably angry when I picked him up on Sunday night, and he ran right past me to greet total strangers sitting in the vet’s lobby. Then he wandered in my direction with indifference and the expression of a dog who feels violated. There was no way to explain to him the correlation of glove eating and intestinal blockage, but he eventually got hungry again and remembered that we are the providers of food.
By the way, it will cost you about four hundred bucks to have a dog with the cleanest colon in the county.
Speaking of clean colons…I was in a minor traffic accident this morning.
The lady whose jeep I inadvertently ran off the road was quite nice about it, as it was really not my fault, but the cop did have to blame someone. I was at the back of a line of cars when the driver of the lead car had the spontaneous desire to make a left hand turn, resulting in the chain reaction of quickly applied breaks. This doesn’t always work so well for the guy in the back, and I swerved to the right to avoid a pile-up.
Her jeep only suffered a flat tire and busted rim, and the Rexmobile came away with only a few dents, but what really made the occasion was receiving a ticket for a reckless lane change.
It was certainly a helluva way to start the day, and a fellow landscaper who had heard all about Carl Weathers’ bowels the day before said, “I guess the other shoe has dropped.” Then he added, “Unless these things come in threes.”
Everything in folklore comes in threes, but I don’t understand the business about dropping shoes. Can there be three dropping shoes?
I certainly hope not, as I will be flying out of state this weekend for one of my other half-jobs, and a third disaster waiting to happen is not something I want to travel with. I already HATE flying.
So illogical Rex spent the day waiting for something bad to happen.
I was head butted by a ghostly white Borzoi (also known as a Russian Wolfhound) while digging holes in a West Meade backyard, but that probably doesn’t count. He floated around the estate like a giant sheet of happy, yet pristine poster board and kept bringing us toys to play with him and then tried to help us dig our holes, but that isn’t on par with illogical Rex’s expectations.
Ah, the joy of a dog who knows not about enemas and such.
He then pissed in the hole I was digging, but that probably doesn’t count as disaster number three either.
posted by Rex L. Camino at 9:19 PM
8 Comments:
I have learned long ago that in the case of cars stopping suddenly in front of you... just floor it and hope for either the loving embrace of death or totaling your car thus getting a huge insurance reimbursement...
i've never heard of anyone getting a ticket for changing lanes erractically... although I have seen my share of police cars doing that without signals as well as running red lights without their blue lights on... some people are just above the law... but i digress...
i hope that the third thing that happens to you is that you go crazy with envy at the sight and maybe even touch of my new violin bass... it is truly a work of art... thursday night bitch...
tha b.
Nice, tha b. I'm sure I'll want my own.
I did learn that ramming into the back of the car in front of me is the best thing to do. Also, it is likely that the chain reaction will eventually reach the one who stopped suddenly and thus punish the guilty.
I don't really understand the ticket either, but I suppose that Cheif Serpico has to pay his son's lawyer bills somehow.
Keep in mind that in some cultures bad things don't stop at threes - they keep going up to 9!
For some reason though, they never go past 9, or if they do, it is said to be 9 + 1 instead. I guess it isn't as prophetically romantic to go over single digits.
i hopes you aint a flyin' outs be4 saturday night. there's a rockin' to be dones that evenin'
Man, sometimes I wish I could own a P.O.S. car and just hit people or get hit by people.
I was always told that even if the car in front of me comes to a sudden stop, hitting them is totally my fault because I'm driving too close to them.
Don't worry, Sethro. I'm here until Sunday.
I have always heard the same thing, Muffy, and I suppose that is why my natural reaction is to take my chances in the next lane.
Mel, your revelations do not help illogical Rex. There is no way I can get through nine of these before the flight.
Btw, I still crack up everytime I read "carl weathers" because it makes me think of Arrested Development. And I love it when animals have people names.
"Carl Weathers" is really just a blog name I gave him in a post a few months back to protect his identity, but people have now started calling him that. My wife even does it.
But here's the funny part: I get two or three google hits a week from people looking up things about the real Carl Weathers, and I suppose that the real Carl might someday stumble in here while googling himself.
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