Don't call PETA on me!

I promise I'm not a horrible parent to our precious pup, but The Pooper had some close calls this week with his mom.  Looking back, they are entertaining, so I will share.  Let me catch you up first: part of the b'day gift to Mr. Smith with Cooper was assuring him that I could run home every day for lunch until The Pooper was adequately kennel-trained.  This has proven incredibly boring and time consuming on my part, but that dang pup loves it.  When it's sunny, I sit outside and eat my lunch on the deck while he runs free in the backyard, soaking up the rays and lovin' life.  Sometimes we even play fetch with his tennis ball.  However, on days like today (it's pouring here and 40 degrees!), madness runs amis while I'm trying to scarf down a quick lunch and end World War III between The Pooper and the Princess Abby Cat (who reigns with terror, mind you!). 

Nevertheless, Tuesday this week proved to be too cold and yucky for the Cooper's antics, so we sat inside while I ate a hot dog (I never claimed these lunches were healthy).  These are good hot dogs, from Omaha Steak (we have like a million of them), and I feel like I'm doing my part in the whole budget thing by eating them for lunch during the week.  The Pooper also feels like he should do his part by eating one as well.  Every once in a while I'll give him a little bit of leftover meat, and that child puppy loves it. However, for some reason Tuesday I was feeling pretty generous and felt the need to cook The Pooper one whole hot dog, just for him.  Because I love him that much. 

After chopping up the cooked hot dog into little bits (like any good mother would!), I eagerly put them in Cooper's dog bowl and watched that pup HOOVER them down.  I was slightly alarmed at the sheer verocity of his intake, but he seemed fine. 

Warning... watch you are about to read is disgusting. If you have a weak stomach, turn back immediately!!!

Not 10 minutes later, I hear one of the grossest sounds ever... you know what it is... someone heaving.  Or rather, our dog heaving.  Heaving up a HUGE pile of greenish dog food mush with the hot dog bits.  And then did it again.  And then again.  Three times.  Three mounds of grossness on my kitchen floor (thankfully, the carpets were not involved in this!).  Usually, I've got a pretty strong stomach, but having just eaten one of these gourmet franks, my stomach did not want to see my lunch in this fashion.  Please picture me in my professional attire, on all fours on the floor, crawling around, dry heaving and gagging, while cleaning up this mess.  Oh, and fighting off Cooper from coming back for seconds.  As in, a second helping.  I kid you not.  This is my life.  Anyone jealous?  Bueller? Bueller? 

Anyway... that about wraps up my funny Cooper story this week.  I've got another but might wait for another posting.  As you can imagine, no pictures were taken to accompany this entry, as for starters, I tried to hide the whole event from Mr. Smith, to no avail.  He wondered aloud why Cooper was begging him for food and then made the link that I had fed him in about 3 seconds flat.  Might have been the guilt written all over my face?