I've been following Laurie's worried posts about her dog Boscoe, who's been falling down, puking and pooping all over the house. Poor guy. Poor Laurie and Doug who have to clean it up.

Of course, Laurie's stories are reminding me of a day I spent at my sister's house.

It was Passover, which I always hated because we always had lamb (I hated lamb), and we couldn't eat anything leavened, and I swear I always wanted something leavened.

Anyway, I was asleep on the couch after the damn lamb, and the dog was jumping on me and whining. I sat up, and she dashed away and puked. Then she ran back. Fun. So I went to let her out, stepping in a cold pile of hurl on the way to the patio. She stopped in the kitchen to take a dump. Then she puked again. Then I stepped in another couple piles, one cold, one warm.

You have to realize that I don't handle vomit well. Even dog vomit.

I let Garbo (she was part of a litter found in a garbage bin) out and worried that she'd be so ill she wouldn't come back in. So I traipsed down to my sister's room.

There were voices, muffled. I was glad they were awake. They were not glad I was. Experience tells me they were enjoying each other's company in a rapturous manner. At the time, I hadn't a clue.

Knock, knock. Silence.

"Cindy? Cindy?"

Grunts, shushing. "What is it, Amy?"

"Garbo's sick."

They didn't seem concerned. I had spew and poo between my toes. I was not engaged in sexual activity. I was concerned.

Lewis finally emerged. How oddly they dressed for bed, I thought.

Then Lewis found a pile or two with his feet. Cynthia said she'd clean it up in the morning.

Oh, the smell was tremendous. I didn't want to sleep in that stench. Over massive objection from Lewis, I talked them into letting me sleep in their room on the floor. The boys' room smelled like pee, so I didn't want to sleep there. My parents were in Rebecca's bed, and Rebecca had her floor. Poor Lewis. Poor Garbo. Garbo got the bathroom, where she could be locked in and it was easy to clean the floor.

And I got to share the story with the world almost 25 years later. Or thereabouts.