Tequila the Toddler

Don’t let anyone tell you having a dog isn’t good practice for raising a child.

Because having a 5-year-old golden retriever, I find, is remarkably like living with a toddler.

For example:

I decided last night Tequila should start sleeping in her own bed. With a child, it’s a matter of maturing. With a dog, it’s a matter of having just changed my sheets and shaken out my blanket.

In the middle of the night, she started acting funny. She was needy (more so than usual), wining and pawing at me, begging to come cuddle. Feeling exhausted, I decided it was easier to accept than keep her away, so I invited her in. She, as usual, curled up with me and breathed heavily, on her way to sleep. Holding and comforting her, I began to drift myself. But as soon as my hand stopped rubbing her belly, she rolled over. She looked at me with concern in her eyes. She hiccupped once, and puked. Everywhere. All over my bed.

And then she ran away looking shameful, feeling bad. Leaving me with a gigantic puddle of chunky, acidy vomit all over my down comforter, blanket, and sheets.

Seeking comfort, I called my mother. “What, you don’t think you guys puked as kids?”

So I gave Tequila lots of water and had her lie down. I took plastic bags and paper towels and wiped as much of the puke away as I could. I went to wash it all downstairs, but the machine was broken… so I did the best I could in the kitchen sink, rubbing stain stick all over everything, and bagged it all up in giant black garbage bags to be washed elsewhere. (Yuck.)

I made my bed, cleaned the sink, and tried again.

And then when Tequila came back begging for comfort, I — like any sad-sap of a mother — invited her up to cuddle again. It’s not her fault she didn’t feel good!