This is the mug I won (thanks 'write from karen'). It sums up my life.
I rescue my dog from myself and resist the urge to euthanize him on a daily basis.
He eats everything.
Last summer I gave him a raw hide bone so that he could cut down on his toilet paper and play-dough diet.
It was midnight and the dog started frothing and vomiting.
I woke Steve. I told him that the dog was choking on a raw hide bone.
Groggily he ignored the fact that I was standing naked except for surgical gloves.
(I was self tanning, and the gloves keep my hands from turning orange)
He said: "let him die."
Nevertheless he got up to check on the infirmed.
The dog was in trouble.
Gasping for air, the dog had already defacated and urinated all over the floor (clearly he was checking out).
And then he fell unconscious.
I turned away (yes, still naked) on the pretext of needing to clean up the vomit.
In truth, despite all my pet loathing--I could not watch him die.
Suddenly Steve let out a jubilant cheer.
Uncertain as to whether this meant the dog was alive or dead, I looked.
The dog was revived, panting up a storm, sitting beside Steve.
Apparently, after the dog passed out, Steve performed the
Heimlich Manuever.
(medical school had finally paid off)
Standing over the prostrate dog, Steve had lifted him under his front armpits and pumped up and into the dog's stomach.
Out flew the raw hide bone.
Out flew all chances of having a cleaner home.
Out flew undisturbed sleep.
But in that fleeting moment of split second decision making, Steve had rescued not only our pet, but he had also rescued our body guard, buddy and our most honest companion.