After a consistent string of shoe chewings, tub poopings, and trash can topplings, B and I finally decided it was necessary to start crating Hurley when we weren't home.
It's been about two months, and life has been blissfully chew-free. So I started thinking, maybe Hurley's learned his lesson. Maybe he's changed. Maybe his impulse to strew trash all over my apartment and chew my bed post has died.
So on Tuesday night, when I knew there would be about a 30-minute window from when I left the apartment to go out to dinner and when B returned home from work, I decided to let Hurley have free reign to see what happened.
When I got home that night things seemed good. There were no new teeth marks, no destroyed shoes. But Hurley was unusually thirsty. Turns out I had left an unopened box of instant oatmeal on the kitchen table, and Hurley had feasted on dried oats.
And as he later slated his night-long thirst, those oats expanded in his stomach. By 12 a.m. he was as round as a holiday ham. And that's when he started puking. And he didn't stop until about 5 a.m., leaving B just enough time to sneak in one hour of sleep before he had to jet off to an early lesson.
On my hands and knees on my bathroom floor scooping up some fresh dog vomit sometime around 3:43 a.m. I started to question my life's priorities. But ces't la vie, my dog is cool. So cool in fact, that it was recently decided that if he was a human, he would be the Dude. So here's hoping that I have many more years of cleaning up the Dude's regurgitated dinner at 3 a.m.