On Memorial Day weekend, Dorothy went on her first car ride since driving back with me from Maine to Philadelphia. I would not call it a rousing success. My friend, Heidi, picked us up right outside of my apartment, where I was standing with Dorothy, her bed, and a roll of paper towels, Just In Case. I loaded Dorothy into the back seat, putting her bed behind Heidi, the driver, so that I could reach back to her if need be, and so that she could see me. And off we went!
Understandably, Dorothy was a bit concerned about the experience. First, she barked. A lot. And when Dorothy does an upset bark, it is not, shall we say, an inside voice. The car practically shimmered from the decibels packed into Dorothy's bark.
We drove a few blocks, with Dorothy sort of shifting around in the back seat. I was periodically reaching back to give her a soothing pet, when all of a sudden I noticed that poop was shooting out of Dorothy's rear end. Now, for the record, I feel the need to interrupt here and say that I was aware that Dorothy was about due to leave a gift, shall we say. And to try to get her to do so BEFORE the car ride, I had taken her out four times in the previous hour and a half--but to no avail. So there Dorothy is, pooping what seems like a whole week's worth in the back seat of Heidi's car, all over a pair of pants Heidi was taking to the cleaners, her bed, the seat, etc. We pulled over; I got the roll of paper towels and cleaned it up to the best of my ability.
Dorothy, while I was cleaning, had jumped up to the far back ledge, and was perching there like a brown brindle parrot. I had to force her to get down from her precarious position and back into her bed so that we could start the second leg of the journey.
Here is Dorothy, exhausted after the whole pooping in the car debacle:
On the way back at the end of the afternoon, Dorothy still didn't seem that pleased to be in the car. She was very whiny and barky, and here is where I made Error #2. I plied her with kibble. I had a bag of kibble in my purse, and I kept giving her pieces of it to keep her quiet. And partly because it was an hour and a half past her usual dinner time, so I thought she must be very hungry. We drove for about twenty minutes, and were literally a block from my apartment when I thought Dorothy looked a little green around the gills. Yes. Yes, she did.
But! Whipping out my roll of paper towels heroically, I was able to tear a towel from the roll in time to catch Dorothy's vomit with it and tuck it all handily into a baggie! It was all quite athletic of me, if I do say so myself.
Heidi, at this point, had decided to forego the extra two blocks to the parking lot in favor of getting us out of her car as soon as possible! She deposited me and Dorothy at our front door, before driving off to find a parking spot without having to worry what other bodily fluids might be about to sully her car's interior. Dorothy walked step by step by step, sloooowwwwwly into the apartment, where she immediately collapsed into a small cat bed, looking sick as sick could be. Poor baby!
So, hmmmm. Not the best re-introduction to the wonders of the automobile. I'm hoping this was just a wee mistake that not giving her kibble next time will fix. If anyone ever lets us into their cars ever again.
Dorothy, post-poop, pre-vomit: