I had the worst morning this week. And it started the night before.
“Bugger,” I called out to Tracey when I was feeding our dog. “I’ve poured too much food into Jazz’s bowl.”
“Take it out,” Tracey called back.
“Okay,” I said. But I didn’t. I didn’t want my hands to smell of dry dog food.
Instead, I figured I wouldn’t need to feed Jazz the next night. I even congratulated myself on how well this little mistake worked out.
But I was wrong.
A bellow from Miss11 the following morning gave me my first hint things hadn’t gone as envisaged.
“The dog’s vomited!”
I was halfway through making my first coffee but even standing at the coffee machine in my pre-caffeinated state I realized that Jazz had obviously accepted the dog bowl challenge and taken to the mountain of dry food like distant relatives to the open bar at your wedding.
I didn’t move.
Unlike the rest of the household which raced out to gawk and gag at the mess.
Messes. Clearly our dog needed to make room more than once. Like I said, it was a lot of food.
“I’ll fix it up after my coffee,” I said.
Wrong again.
Just as the last drop of glorious golden goodness made its way from the pod to my cup I caught movement outside on the balcony in my peripheral vision.
“Stop! Stop! Go! Go! Go! Stop!” I yelled. I also helpfully jabbed at the kitchen window. “Go! Go! Go!”
I might add at this point that the above sentence made perfect sense to me. However, no one did what I was asking. The only people who obeyed the stop instructions were the ones who were already stopped and now gawking at me, and the only person who ignored it was the one who was going like the clappers up the balcony towards the piles of dog chunder clutching a spoon in one hand and a plastic container in the other.
Fortunately, we did managed to stop Miss2 before she got to the breakfast buffet. Unfortunately, there was no way to return to my coffee before cleaning the whole thing up. Fortunately, I was able to manage this with a spade and a hose, and didn’t need to get my hands dirty.
Unfortunately, my morning wasn’t over yet.
“She’s thrown up again!” yelled Miss11 as she and Miss7 and Master9 headed to the car for the school run.
“Just step around it,” I told them. Despite the earlier episode I felt there was no need to panic because Miss4, and more importantly Miss2, were in the bathroom with their mother. Plus, I wanted to finish my coffee before we left.
Wrong. Not about where the little girls were, but rather about everything else.
“Dad! I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry!” came a sudden and worrying cry from Master9. “I didn’t mean it, Dad. I’m so sorry!”
Somehow I just knew what had happened even before I walked out of the kitchen.
My son had managed to drop the car keys into the one gob of dog spew on the entire 100m2 balcony.
Let’s just say there are hell worse and slimier things for a hand to smell of than dry dog food.
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“Raising a family on little more than laughs”
