One sick puppy

I sense that being a father might suck.

On a brief break from a 14-hour workday, I slipped home for an exceedingly healthy dinner of linguine with herbs. I let out the house therapy mutt for her nightly constitutional. She did her duty and began doing the thing that always makes me worry. She started eating the grass. I knew she was going to be ill. When she feels sick, she eats grass to make herself puke.

Sweet story, I know.

All of a sudden, I’m in full doggie-care mode. I’m monitoring the color of the puke, I’m feeding her bland people food to settle her tummy. I’m feeling sympathy gut cramps. I start to pant. I may or may not have peed on the couch.

The short version of the story is…the dog is fine. One good upchuck was all she needed. But it reminds me how terrifying it must be to be a parent.

Saturday agood friend of mine rolled her SUV down an embankment (the other driver’s fault). In the vehicle with her as she rolled off the interstate: Her nine year old niece and 11-month old baby. Thanks to modern car restraint technology (and likely more than a little guardian angelic interventon), they all came out just fine.

If I became a father and that happened to me, I probably would never let my kid leave the house again.

I’m sure fatherhood has a lot of perks. I’m just not sure I could ever handle it.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to eat some grass.