My dog and I have been fighting. We have a fundamental disagreement about his right to try and kill the neighbors--he says he can, I say no. We disagree even further about my right ro reach toward him and grab his leash when he's barking and lunging at the neighbors. I think I have to hold on tight so he doesn't get away, bite them, and cause us to be sued and him to be euthanized. He thinks he has every right to try and bite my hand when it gets close to hos face during these episodes. I've pointed out to him that mine is the much-storied "hand that feeds him", but he just lowers his head and looks askance at me.
Anyway, we had several skirmishes last night that stemmed from our fundamental disagreement (he's also really, really like to bite people who have the audacity to walk by the car when he's in it.) By the time I pulled him in the front door, snarling and choking, I wasn't really feeling the dog love. I gave him a very stern lecture (sample line: That is not how we behave in this house!) and fed him. Then, I sat down to eat my very special dinner--ribs and macaroni and cheese from Kenny's Smokehouse. Mmmm.
Enter the dog, looking very contrite. The very image of the word "hangdog". He hopped up on the couch next to me, and very gently wiggled his little head under my arm. No, I said, because he's not allowed on the couch when I'm eating. He lowered his head sadly, and belched softly.
And spewed about a pound of undigested dog food onto my lap, which was covered with a very expensive wool blanket I bought in Ireland.
Turns out I misconstrued "contrite" for "nauseous". Off to the vet tomorrow, because he's been hurling quite a bit lately. But it had better be cheap, or else I'm leaving him there.