(Sensitive stomach trigger warning.)
So, a dear priest friend of mine (who shall remain anonymous) decided it was time to get a dog. I suggested a rescue dog like Sebastian and Chesterton. And he did go look but he had other plans.
I have never had a puppy but having done some puppy sitting, I know that these little blossoms of cuteness need a tremendous amount of attention and tend to get into things. But who am I to say? I even kept my mouth shut when he showed up for brunch one Wednesday looking as though he was chased by a bear naked through a briar patch.
THEN he tells the story of what happened last week. Apparently he has trained his puppy, let's call him Barfy, to get some of his pent-up energy out by trotting on his otherwise unused treadmill.
So the dog is having the time of his life merrily trotting along when something went terribly wrong. Some interesting and dreadful noises resonated from the puppy's stomach preceding an explosion of "material" from Barfy's working end.
Do you know how, when normally you can do things quickly and efficiently but in an emergency situation your hands turn into oven mitts and your brain turns to mush? Well that is what happened to my poor priest friend. Leaping up (from his comfy chair) he tried to come to the rescue of Barfy only to be foiled by the simplest of "OFF" switches while his poor puppy happily trotted along and continued to spray paint the treadmill.
What made matters worse was that the "puppy material" was spraying off the end of the tread, splattering onto the wall and carpeting only further exasperating the would be rescuer. I didn't want to draw this because it would be gross but here is something none-the-less that will give you an idea:
Of course, at this point, what stuck to the treadmill is now coming around again and the puppy is . . . well, do you really want an explanation?
Fortunately, my friend got everything under control. The puppy was wondering why the entertainment had to stop. And then the fun part of cleaning up had to take place. So tons of paper towels were used and put into a trash bag.
I should explain that my friend is EXTREMELY sensitive to smells. He is easily gagged. So with the last of his strength, he ran the bag upstairs and intended to take it outside to the trash through their sliding glass door.
Now this door is a pain. It's old and weary and sometimes needs some gentle finessing to get it to open. A smelly bag, a sensitive nose and weak stomach is no time for finessing.
I must say that I am proud of the spirituality of my friend who has learned to laugh at himself and who is open to growing from his past experiences.