No time to panic when pooch erupts in your bedroom

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Mr. X only looks harmless.

It was the middle of the night and my wife and I were snoring away contentedly, dreaming peaceful dreams.

Then, suddenly and without warning, in the pitch-black darkness of our bedroom, a horrifying sound shattered the calm.

It sounded just like this: "URRGMMPH! URRGMMPH!"

If you don't recognize that eerie sound, I'm going to assume you don't own a pet, or, if you do, it is probably a goldfish, which I hear make excellent companions despite the fact they aren't much fun to pet and don't come when you call them.

If you are a dog owner, however, you recognized that noise in a heartbeat and it sent chills up and down your spine.

It's the sound a dog makes in the seconds before its queasy digestive system launches into reverse thruster mode.

When you hear this noise, you literally have seconds to tuck the offending canine under your arm like a football and sprint for the back door to get it outside before the nauseated hound erupts like Mount St. Helens, only in a more disgusting manner.

It is not easy to do this when you are lying in bed in the middle of the night.

In our case, the sound was coming from Mr. X, a furry little dog we inherited about three months ago. For the record, Mr. X is slightly larger than a loaf of bread and looks like what you would get if you crossed a small experimental sheep with a throw pillow.

Mr. X is not his real name. I just call him that because my wife and daughter are crazy about him and don't want his feelings hurt by having his real name appear in a highly questionable column such as this.

The important thing is, along with our wiener dog, Mr. X frequently sleeps in the middle of our bed, where, in my opinion, he has become a ticking time bomb.

The problem is he has a finicky gastrointestinal system and, according to my wife, I let him eat a lot of stuff he shouldn't, although a steady diet of taco chips and Cheetos has never done me any harm.

Getting back to our story, we were lying in bed earlier this week when, suddenly, Mr. X's digestive system went into hyperdrive.

Immediately, my wife and I went into Red Alert Mode. Or at least I did, whereas my wife continued to snore.

"QUICK!" I shrieked in blind panic. "THE DOG IS GOING TO THROW UP!"

The real question, of course, is which of the two dogs in your bed is about to lose its lunch, and how, in the complete and utter darkness, do you locate it, scoop it up, and carry it outside when you are in a confused, sleep-deprived state?

Relying on my cat-like reflexes, I pounced out of bed, flicked on the lights in our room, grabbed Mr. X and ... (dramatic pause) ... as you have no doubt already deduced, we did not make it in time.

I will point out here we had taken Mr. X outside before hitting the sack, but Rule No. 2 in the Dog Handbook states: "NEVER throw up outside if there is even the slightest chance you can do it in the middle of your owner's bed!"

You are probably wondering what Rule No. 1 is. That rule states: "If you have to do your business inside, never do it on the hardwood floors or bathroom tiles if there's expensive carpeting in your owner's den!"

Lately, Mr. X, who has been a bit under the weather, has been following that rule to the letter. In fact, this morning, after my wife went to work, I walked into the den with a cup of coffee and there, on the carpet in front of our big-screen TV, was a small gift he'd apparently left behind during the wee hours.

Armed with the appropriate arsenal of household cleaning supplies, I attacked the mess (Handy Tip: Baby wipes are not just for babies anymore), popped it in an old Safeway bag, then carefully carried it outside to the garbage.

During this process, which took a couple of minutes, Mr. X had been snoozing in our bed, but when I returned to the house, I discovered the ticking time bomb had got up and (Why not?) raced back into the den to make another deposit, so to speak.

As a caring husband, I have decided to leave THAT for my wife to deal with, because I know it brings her great joy. I can tell by the happy sound she makes as she scrubs the carpet.

It sounds just like this: "URRGMMPH!"

doug.speirs@freepress.mb.ca

Republished from the Winnipeg Free Press print edition June 22, 2012 A2