You guys. You know how I don't love animals? I mean, it's not like I hate them. It's just that I don't understand them.
When I was a child, we had a number of animals at our house. For example, there was the Queen of Colors. But obviously that wasn't a positive pet experience.
Then I had a bird named Feathers who was mean as Hell and I think may have actually just been a reincarnation of the Queen of Colors. Feathers used to attack anything that was put in his cage. One day he accidentally got out and flew to my closed bedroom door, pacing back and forth in front of it for a good two hours while seven-year-old Eli sat at the far end of the bedroom crying and waiting for Bob and Cathie to come help.
DCFS should have a record of that unexplained two-hour wait.
Then we had an adorable dog named Winnie whom I loved with every fiber of my being and who hated me with every fiber of hers. That dog bit me every single day of her untrained spoiled existence.
So as an adult I've just been a little confused about why anyone wants any pets at all.
That was until Ollie came into being.
Matt told me he had finally gotten a dog. Wanting to be polite, I decided I would stop by to meet him and feign excitement for his purchase. I was not expecting what then happened.
You guys. Ollie dove directly into the center of my enlarged heart. I love him with the strength of a thousand hurricanes. I want to have him surgically connected to my body. If someone told me I had to choose to either never see Ollie again or let an entire village of children die, I would think about it.
I have begged Matt to let me babysit Ollie at every opportunity. And so Matt agreed to let me have some special Ollie/Eli time every Saturday morning.
I'm truly not exaggerating here when I tell you that I had a hard time sleeping the night before our first play date. I kept checking the clock throughout the night, upset that there were still several hours before Ollie would be dropped off.
I was so excited that I actually got up at 3:00AM to write out a schedule in pencil for what we would do that day together.
I USED A PENCIL YOU GUYS!
Ollie came. We played. We napped. I took him to Bob and Cathie's house and let him run around the back yard while I helped Bob trim some vines. And then finally it was time to head home and drop Ollie off with Matt.
I was so pleased that our day together had gone so well. I was so happy to discover that I do still have the capacity to love animals.
Then I pulled onto the freeway and things took a turn for the worse. Worst? Which is it?
Look. I don't own animals. I don't know what is appropriate. I probably shouldn't have had the puppy sitting on my lap. There's likely some kind of standard safe practice for driving with an animal. But I just let Ollie sit on my lap. Judge if ye must.
Ollie was fine. Sleeping. Tired from his long day of playing. Basking in the glory of what was most definitely the best day of his life. Then suddenly, like he was waiting for me to get to the freeway so I couldn't just pull over, Ollie stood on all fours and began dry-heaving.
Eli: Ollie? What's wrong?
Ollie: HACK. HACK. HACK. HACK.
Eli: Ollie? Are you going to throw up?!
Ollie: HACK. HACK. HACK. HACK.
Eli: Ollie, please don't do this. Please stop. Please no. I'm begging you.
Ollie: HACK. HACK. HACK. HACK. BLEEEEEEEEEEERGGGGGGG. BLAAAAAAAHHH. HUUUUUURL.
Eli: OH GOSH! PLEASE NO!
Ollie: BLLLLUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGG. CRUUUUUUUUUURRLLLL.
Eli: I DON'T DESERVE THIS! THIS ISN'T RIGHT! I'M A GOOD PERSON!!!
Ollie threw up. And threw up. And threw up. More food than I think he's had to eat in his entire short life. Pieces of sticks and grass and dog treats and furniture. Everything he's been holding in for months.
And I started screaming. And swerving. And trying to catch the vomit in my hands. And twisting my body in any way I could to keep the pint of puke in my lap from running down to the seat. He projectile vomited onto my chest. He puked all over every square inch of my shorts. Some of it got onto my face. The puking wouldn't stop.
THE PUKING WOULDN'T STOP YOU GUYS!
I felt the vomit seep through my shorts and underwear. I felt the wet dog puke soaking all the way through. I started gagging. And dry heaving. And trying desperately to keep myself from joining in.
I pleaded with him to cease. I begged him to just wait until I could pull over. But he didn't listen to me. He just kept puking.
I seriously thought the car was going to fill up all the way with dog vomit and I was going to have to roll down the windows to let it pour out so we wouldn't drown.
Ollie flopped down in it. He was covered in his own vomit. We BOTH were. He curled into a little ball on my lap, soaking in his puke, as he continued to throw up. I continued to scream. All while flying down the freeway at 80 miles per hour.
Matt was already parked in front of my building, waiting for us to show up when we screeched to a halt right next to his vehicle.
I opened the car door and a puke-soaked Ollie flopped out and onto the ground. I rolled out of the vehicle immediately after him, shaking the dog vomit off of me.
Matt stood in front of us, horror struck.
Ollie walked over to Matt sheepishly, apparently done puking.
Matt: Uh . . . do I even want to know what happened?
Eli: Your animal just ruined my whole life.
Matt: I'm so sorry. Did he ruin your clothes? WAIT A MINUTE! Are you wearing MY shorts?!
Eli: Huh? Oh, it looks like I am.
Matt: And that's my shirt!!!
Eli: Oh this old thing?
Matt: HOW DID YOU EVEN GET MY CLOTHES?!
Eli: How does anyone get anything?
Matt: Well most people BUY their own clothes. But apparently you're ok with stealing.
Eli: Matt. Your beast just vomited on me for 20 minutes. I am going to liberally take whatever I want from you for the rest of my life.
~It Just Gets Stranger