... and common sense is a plus

There are moments when I just want to kick myself for not having my camera. Moments that I will never get back. Moments like Sunday evening as the sun was setting, driving down I-26 with Dylan in my parents' old Suburban and laughing at Riley and Oliver in the back. They looked so victorious as they stood with their front paws on the back seat and their ears flapping in the wind, tongues hanging out of their mouths, reveling in the joy of a day filled with adventures. It was picture perfect.

Just to be clear, that was the only moment I was interested in photographing from that day. Their wagging tails and flying ears.

I was not interested in photographing the moment after church, as I looked out the kitchen window into the backyard and discovered the dynamic duo frolicking happily about in rat poison they had dug out from under the shed.

I was not interested in photographing the multiple attempts to induce vomiting on recommendation of the emergency vet hotline.

I was not interested in photographing the phone call to our best friends traveling home from a weekend away, telling them that we were taking SUCH good care of their baby that we decided to take him to the hospital. You know, just cause we care. Oh and cause he ate rat poison.

I was not interested in photographing our three-hour wait to be seen at the puppy ER, or in photographing an increasingly cranky and hungry Dylan. It seems there is only so much happiness that Blackberry updates on the NFL draft can bring a person as you sit starving on a bench with two monsters pulling leashes in opposite directions.

I was not interested in photographing the parade of terrified pet-owners trying to carry their sick pets past loudly barking Riley and Oliver who had apparently deemed themselves Royal Guards of the Pet ER. For three hours.

I was not interested in photographing their sad little faces as we sent them off with strangers for treatment and headed out to finally find some food for ourselves. (For your information, "treatment" was force-feeding of activated charcoal to absorb any poison in their stomachs.)

I was not interested in photographing the bedraggled, charcoal-stained veterinary staff, or the black-streaked dogs that joyfully bounded out to greet us when we returned to pick them up two hours later. (Ok, maybe I would have liked a picture of that. That was very funny. That and a picture of the terrified faces of all the people in the waiting room as they heard Riley and Oliver coming down the hall.)

I believe the exact words of the vet tech were "they are a bunch of wild orangutans." Which is what I feel any true friendship should aspire to look like, really.

So no, it was not a picture perfect day. But it was a day that ended with two insanely lovable dogs that will be just fine, two insanely wonderful friends who actually still thanked us for dog-sitting, and two very tired Curtises who wish those dogs had just a tad more common sense.