Oh, the hacking!

Every once in a while, Rory the pom gets a hairball. Like a cat. But it takes a while to show up…in the mean time, my apartment is filled with every HARGHH, HUURRRH, and CAACK you can imagine. This is her in action:

She’s allowed on the couch because there’s no hairball yet. When it’s time, oh, you’ll know. It gets real quiet, the birds kinda stop chirping…then she HARGHs and HURHs from her diaphragm this time, like she took singing lessons, and you pray you get her outside before the CAACK.

The last hairball, as soon as I heard the warning sounds, I grabbed her and carried her like a football while I made the mad dash to the front door. Here’s what some unfortunate apartment neighbor walking by saw: a front door flying open with a girl rushing out, holding a little yellow dog. She hoists the dog up and leans its head over the second-story balcony. It pukes into the bushes below. They go back inside. The door closes quietly.

That was probably the most random thing they saw that day.

I tried to get an a) clear and b) well-lit picture of her cutely napping, and these were the next five pictures:

Finally sleeping peacefully.

Umm, do you really need to take pictures of me now?

None of the face, please.

I think a HARGH is coming on...

CAACK!

Fin.