God Puked On My Bed

When I arrived at Whispering Pines Mobile Park, the host was a super nice lady, who loaded me and the puppy up into her golf cart (Harley loves golf cart rides). She showed me several different RV sites to choose from.

I chose the one spot,  way in the back, far from the busy street. It had a nice little play yard for my canine kid. He could dig in the sand, while tethered to his retractable leash, that runs out about 18 feet, but I put another leash on it, so it gives him about 26 feet to run amok both ways, making a 52 foot run he can enjoy with his toys.

After we paid two night's rent, we drove to the grocery store then back to the RV park. I must have seemed really goofy to the long term residents. I got back, and circled the park a few times, looking for my assigned spot. Finally a resident stopped me and asked if I was lost.

I was.

This park is huge with numerous narrow streets.


He pointed me in the right direction and I found 28-W.  I had to turn around, narrowly missing a fifth-wheel trailer that happens to be up for sale, but it has such few tiny windows, I wondered if it was depressing inside.

I carefully inched my motorhome in reverse, checking both mirrors until I was sure I was parked nice and neat. I hopped out, to check my level gages, it's important to be nearly perfectly level to keep the refrigerator happy for years to come. I was oh so proud of my nice neat parking.

Then I saw the sign.

I had very neatly parked in 29-W, not 28-W. *SIGH*.  I felt like a pure idiot. So back in the motorhome, pull out, realign myself, again narrowly missing the fifth-wheel trailer that is parked perpendicular to where I belonged.  Now I had to angle it in, then straighten up, then creep up in reverse some more. I got out to go look, I was pretty crooked and behind me was the main breaker board for half the park. If I hit THAT, I would surely be run off by an angry mob.

I got back in, wiggled my motorhome around, until I was finally in my tiny spot, then I threw the transmission into park, hopped out to run look behind me; I was about 10 inches from the dreaded electrical panel. I was pretty level, but not perfect, I decided it was close enough for the refrigerator tolerance, so I turned the motor off.  Phew. I'm sure I provided some free entertainment for the neighbors, who were watching me with great interest.

I was now in the correct spot. I set up the puppy dog on his tether, much to his delight, he ran in all directions to test the length of his new playground, then he settled on chewing up a pine cone, rather than the toys I tossed at him. He was excited to see his toys, because he knows that means we are camping for at least one night, maybe longer.

He gets bored riding in the motorhome, when we don't have a friend along to entertain him. I refuse to let him sit on my lap while I drive, or even touch me. He pretends to be real hurt about this. I do provide him a nice comfy seat, with his dog bed so he can feel real cozy. He is tethered for the trip, but has enough leash to lay on the carpet, the tile or his bed in the passenger seat. Mostly he lets out a big sigh, then takes a nap until we arrive somewhere, be it the store or a campground.

He was checking out his new play yard, but soon as I turned my back, he tied up the picnic table in bondage, letting out a pathetic whimper to get my attention to come untangle his mess.  I  returned to my chores, hooking up my sewer, water and electricity. I was dead tired and ready for a break, but I took puppy on a brisk walk around the park. We met a few friendly folks and a few other doggies.

Back at the camping spot, I put him on his tether again, then went inside to do a few things. I heard another mournful whimper. This time he had crawled under the motorhome, to the other side, tied up the water hose and electric cable, but fortunately had the good sense not to drag the mess with him.  I had to unhook him, untangle that mess, then put him and his tether back on the other side of the motorhome where he belonged.

I tossed his little basketball at him to chase, and we dribbled around with that for awhile.  Next we fought with the teddy bear, then played Frisbee. I went back inside to contemplate dinner.  My crockpot beans had survived the trip, so I sprinkled them liberally with spices, stirred them up, plugging them back in for a little more cooking to spread the aroma of the flavors.

I slowly opened the refrigerator after removing the duct tape holding it shut. My brand new locking door handle broke within two weeks of purchase. The company has yet to replace it. *SIGH*. So when I travel, I have to duct table the refrigerator door shut for the trip. I hate that! 



Some of my friends try to chat with me by instant messenger on AOL's AIM.  I am Dear Miss Mermaid on that channel. One friend asked me what I had been up to about the same time I noticed a foul odor wafting from the bedroom. I got up to check, then came back to my desk. I typed in rapidly, "I  just noticed that God puked  all over my bed and now I needed to quit typing and go wash the bed comforter!"  I did just that, not waiting for my friend to reply.

Later when I came back to my laptop, after stuffing the comforter into a washing machine, with hot water and lots of soap, plus vinegar for softener,  I saw this puzzled message, "GOD puked all over your bed?  Are you sure it was God?"

I scrolled up and saw my earlier message and felt very foolish. I am hopelessly dyslexic. I use several spell hecklers before I can post my blogs. If you have read any of my hospital blogs, you may have noticed many slipped by without the spell heckler making corrections.  Sometimes I catch my gaffes after posting and publishing, so I go back and try to correct the mess. For a writer, I am terrible at typing.

It was the DOG that puked all over my bed, not God. I am sure my friend wondered about that, since I dashed off without seeing their reply. It's only the 2nd time in puppy's 7 month life with me, that he has regurgitated his stomach for my delight or disgust...  He looked terrified when I saw the mess.  It made me wonder if he had been abused before I got him. He cowered in the corner, shaking, as if I planned to strike him. I felt so sorry for him.

I picked him up, cuddling him, telling him how sorry I was his tummy felt bad. I gave him fresh water and he popped back to his little self, but still looking green around the gills. He didn't eat a thing all day, but the next day devoured a small mountain of food. He seemed fine.

When I went to get the comforter, it was no where near dry, so I had to leave it in the dryer for another 45 minutes.  It's a big fluffy cotton comforter that works in summer or winter. Meanwhile I went back to the motorhome to prepare for bed. Puppy was looking very sad as he sat on my bed,minus the comforter, looking a bit unhappy. I tried to play with him, but he looked so forlorn. I thought it was his tummy bothering him.

Finally, the timer dinged, signalling me to go back for the comforter. I left puppy in the motorhome. I came back inside, 10 minutes later, carrying the big fluffy, now-dry comforter. Harley sprang to life, as if he had just drank a pot of coffee. He was absolutely ecstatic our bed comforter was back in business, nice and clean, all fluffy too. You see, I use the bottom of it, and he uses the top of it. Not to puke on, but to play upon. My bed is kind of like his personal playpen at times and he loves the view from the windows during the daytime. He bounced all over the comforter, after I got it laid out neatly, really happy it was back with us now.



A sad Harley with a funny tummy, waits for the comforter  to come back from the laundry.



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