I have learned something very important today: what’s gone bad is bad! I’m serious. Today my dog barfed up a gone-bad bone, so I know.

It wasn’t a good feeling, and by that, I mean the stomach… and the scorching hot weather, which which was about 95 degrees. Feel hot for you hikers at the North Pole who think any number that’s a “degree” either has to do with latitude or longitude, that’s the temperature.

It was so hot I was way to lazy to get the mail, much less get Peanut to pee. When I got in the house, I let him run free for a bit.

Instantly, a bell should have rang in my head. There were so many bones in our house that I didn’t even know how old they were. Yet I went ahead and made limonade (lemonade made with limes instead).

Ten minutes later. On the way to the crate I had brought in from Peanut’s corner of the garage.

He stops for a moment. I look at what he’s doing. Since it’s underneath the stairway, I think he’s stopped to bite my shoes.

“PEANU…” I stop as I see something on the ground. Instantly my very very very smart brain (I do love bragging sometimes) analyzed the fact that it was barf.

My mom and I checked for signs of choking, and then wiped him off, and then cleaned the mat he barfed on.

Ewwww.