Fire up the Maytag, it's time to do some laundry

I knew something was up when I came home this evening, opened the back door, and saw that Buster was not on the other side, squirming with doggie delight. The big dogs coming home is the Best Thing Ever, so Buster is usually right there, legs flailing, tripping all over himself with the knowledge that soon there will be kibble! And a walk! Today though, no Buster.

I round the corner and see him in the living room (Whew! No dead dog!), perched on the ottoman, staring at me with what in hindsight can only be described as a look of terror in his eyes. I give the room a cursory glance but don't see any chewed up remotes, no detritus of a day of doggie boredom gone sour. So I give him his kibble, he practically does sommersaults of joy, all seems right with the world. I go get the mail and as I close the front door I turn back around to see something not quite right, an odd discoloration on the couch. Hm. I move closer to see more fucking pistachio shells (WTF?!?! I vacuumed Saturday! I moved furniture! There should be no more pistachio shells! Had they been languishing in his belly this whole time?) resting in three discrete puddles of doggie puke.

I cannot tell you how awesome that was.

I then notice that there is also vomit all over the armchair, yellow and dribbling down the side of the cushion, embarrassed of its own weak consistency.

So yeah, I'm getting to spend the night stripping the furniture cushions, washing the covers, and then stuffing the cushions back into them. And for some reason, I can never get it quite right -- they always come out sad and lumpy, squashy with bulbous tumors. I'm leaving all 4 couch cushions for BK to stuff. I think that it's only fair that we share this beautiful moment of growth and bonding over our dog's vomit.