The other night, Brooskey overindulged on a "Healthy Edibles" bone by Nylabone. Edible, yes, but I don't think they intend for the dog to eat the whole thing in five minutes. Needless to say, it came back up. And aside from normal little puppy pukes when he was small, this was really the first time he has ever thrown up. The poor guy was obviously scared and confused; he followed Chris around like glue as he cleaned it up, looking to him for reassurance that he wasn't in trouble.
It reminded me of my youngest brother Rick, and how he used to react to getting sick. At about two or three years old, throwing up terrified him for some reason; he would immediately start crying hysterically whenever it happened. We eventually desensitized him by giving it a cute word ("ucking") and downplaying it... "Oops, you ucked! That's okay, let's clean it up." The hysterics were eventually replaced by weak declarations of "Mommy, I ucked," in this pathetic little voice - so cute.
Mom also taught him where to find "the bucket" in the hall closet whenever he felt the urge to "uck". Soon he was noticing when others weren't feeling well, and he became our little nurse. If I was lying down in bed, even if only because of a headache or a sore throat, he would come to me, put his hand on my shoulder and say, "A-sick?" I'd say, "Yup, I'm sick," and he would run to the closet and get me the bucket, and sweetly stroke my head, saying, "It be okay." It was the sweetest, most adorable thing.
I sure wish there was still someone around who would give me that kind of TLC when I feel crappy. Doggie kisses are nice, but so not the same thing.
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