I am a nanny for a wonderful family with a dog. Oribi is an extremely sweet Labradoodle who loves playing, napping, going for walks, having her butt scratched, and fishing food droppings from the seat of the high chair. And also throws up sometimes. Attending to this, when necessary, has never been An Issue Of Monumental Proportions. Being a pet owner myself and, especially, a nanny, I am exceedingly accustomed to having to rid my surrounding area of
I arrived this morning to learn that Oribi had recently vomited in one of the upstairs bedrooms - no big deal. A couple of hours later, while we were in the playroom, she threw up again. Whatevs, it happens - a little Pepto, Ginger Ale, and Saltines, and she'd be good as new. This, however, was not the case.
Fast forward several hours. The kids are upstairs napping, and I'm in the living room mindlessly entertaining myself and enjoying a break from the sound of my name. (You know the phrase, "that's my name, don't wear it out"? I'm relatively positive that some nanny, somewhere, coined it. And I'm pretty sure mine is actually worn out.) Anyway, there I was, completely engrossed in a magazine article on how to find the most flattering shoe for my toe shape, when Oribi wanders into the living room and steps onto the oriental rug. "Hi, Oribi", I say, and then reach my hand out, offering to scratch her butt. She takes one step toward me, and then stops in her tracks and starts heaving. At that moment, two thoughts enter my head. 1) I wouldn't have pegged myself as a pointy-toed shoe person, because my foot is already pretty narrow - maybe I should go back and read the first part of that article again to see if I misunderstood something. 2) Dog vomit + oriental rug = OHCRAP. I leap off the couch and rush to her side, gently but firmly trying to guide her off of the rug so that whatever comes up will land on the hard floor. After several seconds, I switched from Gentle Yet Firm to GETOFFTHISEFFINGRUGNOW (as much as could be done without hurting with her, at least) but she wasn't budging, and I sure as HEdoublehockeysticks wasn't strong enough to pick her up, so the situation seemed Inevitably Disastrous. As I stood there, trying to hear myself think over the sound of her dry heaving, it suddenly came to me - if I went to the kitchen and grabbed a paper plate, I could have her blow her cookies onto that and the rug could escape unharmed. Instantly, I took off toward the kitchen like a
Oh well, no use crying over spilled barf - the deed had been done; I decided to quickly use the bathroom before I started cleaning it up. Upon exiting the restroom, I was greeted by Oribi and three more piles of vomit - one on the high chair mat and two on the kitchen floor. Sigh. But, it wasn't her fault, and I really did feel bad for her. I decided to clean the rug first. I went and got the cleaner out from under the kitchen sink and made my way back to the living room, carefully avoiding the gigantic piles of Hot Lava Dog Vomit. I got the excess off of the rug with a paper towel and went to spray the cleaner, but nothing would come out. I realized it was practically empty, but had seen another bottle next to it in the cabinet. I got up and made my way back through the kitchen, examining the bottle (aka: not looking at the floor) as I went. Suddenly, I felt something cold and mushy under my left foot. I was desperately hoping that I had been bitten by some radio-active gelatin during the night and was now involuntarily manifesting my new ability to shoot Jell-o out of my feet. This, however, was not the case. I looked down, and my worst fears were confirmed - I had dog vomit all over the bottom of my foot; chunks and all. After cleaning up my own vomit, I washed off my foot, the rug (it was fine, so, no worries), the mat, and the floor and, thank goodness, Oribi didn't throw up again after that.
But, I still think it would be the shiz to be able to shoot Jell-o out of my feet.