I sort of anticipated it.
When you’ve worked a full day and then decided, just for the hell of it, to go out for a beer with your colleagues after work — for the first time in years, mind you — you should expect that the Fates will discipline you. So as I returned home, still savoring that most enjoyable after-work libation and chat with JV and the Unkempt Guy, knowing that two starving dogs would be waiting at the front door barking their famished heads off, I was wary.
But, dog barf? A pool of dog barf on the family room carpet? I guess I expected to suffer for my small transgression from accepted forms of responsible adult behavior, but isn’t dog barf a bit . . . harsh? Does having a beer after work really merit finding yourself on your hands and knees on the family room carpet, hosing down the vile puddle with “spot clean avenger” and trying to mop it up with a rag before it leaves a permanent stain?
And, did you ever think about the sheer wonder of dog vomit? After all, our dogs will eat, lick, smell, or otherwise consume the most appalling and foully odiferous objects, smears, and substances. Our two dogs have the most cast-iron digestive systems imaginable. What could be so repulsive that it would cause them to hurl? My God, what could they possibly have eaten while I was gone?
So now I walk gingerly around the house, wondering whether Penny tried to chew the upholstery on the chair in the study or Kasey gnawed the knob off one of the kitchen cabinets and whether there is an even more disgusting surprise lurking somewhere in the house.
Still, the after-dinner beer was worth it.