Having A Dog Sucks Sometimes -- Exhibit A, My Ruined DKNY Dress

Miles threw up on a silk DKNY dress because dog.

Aug 9, 2013 at 3:30pm | Leave a comment

So much about pet ownership is absolutely awesome. Your canine (or feline or aquatic) companion can add so much sheer joy, spraying an all-encompassing hakunna matata  sheen upon the drudgery of your everyday. 

Just last week I was out to dinner with some colleagues during a professional conference and the dog owners at the table banned together, spending something like 30 minutes trying to convince a hapless and sadly dogless young woman that she should get a dog like now.

"Helena," asked one of my friends rhetorically, "can't Miles tell whenever you're in a really bad mood? Doesn't he always try to make you feel better?" 

"Yep," I replied cheerily. "He's amazing."

But that was last week, ya'll. 

After I got back from the aforementioned work trip, I went about getting my house in the order in which I am accustomed. Whenever I'm gone, even if for only 36 hours, the person who isn't me puts things away in the wrong places -- and I don't like. So there I am, breezing from room to room putting stuff where it's supposed to go, when I see it.

To back up a bit, for whatever reason Miles thinks the guestroom is not for guests but for Miles. Without fail, every night he creeps up there, pushes the door open with his face and then goes ham. Really he just sleeps on a discarded pillow. Also without fail he always traps himself in because the wind blows the door shut and Miles doesn't have thumbs. So I wake up most mornings to Miles bellowing like a madman from behind the guest room door.  

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Anyway, so when I went to check out the guestroom after being gone for all of a day and a half, I was expecting maybe for some of my papers to be strewn about and maybe a nice little angry poo present in the corner. What I wasn't expecting was for there to be dog barf EVERYWHERE, including on the silk colorblock DKNY dress I got on crazy sale at Loehmann's and had worn exactly once. 

My first reaction was a blood-curdling scream that most likely confirmed my insanity for our new neighbors. I then dropped to the floor and cradled my once awesome dress, made awesomer because it was $39.99, in my arms. A mouth party of expletives flew off my tongue like startled bats. My boyfriend and Miles both come racing up the stairs. 

"What happened?"

I still couldn't find the words. I was all vowels and hacking sounds. Then finally I pointed at the tiny culprit unsuccessfully trying to back out of the room, "Fucking Miles!" After less than a minute of futile fist shaking, I shut up long enough to actually have a look around.

Throw up, as all of us who aren't babies know, is never a good sign. Not only was there vomit all over, there were also chicken bones. Chicken. Bones. The entire situation was suddenly made clear. And whatever valid but in the end non-life-threatening dilemma I had going on with the dumb dress paled in comparison to what was laid out before me.

My little bud had somehow (we still haven't figured it out) gotten a hold of a drumstick, swallowed that sucker practically whole and then nearly choked to death while trapped alone in the hardest-to-hear-things-like-that-from room in our house. 

I immediately went from mad to ecstatic, grateful, lucky, you name it. Imagine if instead of a ruined dress, I found a non-responsive Miles in that room. Really puts things in perspective, huh? To say I'll miss that dress (which the cleaners are currently trying to revive) is one thing, but just thinking about my poor little guy suffering alone ties my stomach up in knots. I'm in charge of this living thing and when I fail, even unknowingly, it's a blow to the gut.

It's a reminder that he's not just a happy distraction when I'm feeling blah or a sweet nuisance when I'm working or a crotchety old man stuck in a pug's body. He's my responsibility in a way that goes beyond the walks and the feedings and the regular baths. It's not like I didn't already know that or anything, it was just a heavy-handed hint that the furry roommate that follows me around all day isn't nearly as tough as he seems.  

Posted in Family Drama, miles, dogs, dkny