One Easy Way To Manage an Epic S**tshow

Mostly True Memoirs

A literal s**tshow.

It Was a S**tshow

A literal s**tshow.

Blue ate a HotHands packet.

We rushed her into the Pet Emergency Room.

They induced vomiting.

And emptied my wallet in the process.

They told us Blue’s stomach would probably be upset.

However, her stomach was not upset.

She was happy and sassy and had absolutely no regrets.

Several days later, we had some air conditioning guys in the house.

Blue was getting in their way, and I had a Zoom call, so I gave the dog to the Grown Son to watch.

His bedroom is right next to my home office.

Soon, I heard a frantic ruckus from next door.

Blue’s upset stomach had finally manifested in the Grown Son’s bedroom.

There was a lot of yelling.

It was, from what I could hear, an explosive, gigantic, horrifyingly messy episode.

The Grown Son was freaking out.

Bob didn’t know what to do.

I have always been the on-call person for this kind of disaster.

Since I was in a meeting, they had to take care of it themselves.

They figured it out.

The good news is that Blue has most certainly expelled any residual toxins that might have been in her system.

The Grown Son was furious that I was laughing so hard.

Until he finally started to laugh too.

Yeah, there’s nothing funnier than a s**tshow.