The Becks in: "Bellyachin'"

This week's story involves potty humor, near-tragedy, and some infantile language (such as "potty humor") Parental discretion is advised.

So this morning two of the Beck boys had a Dr's appointment. Those two boys would be our very well behaved black cat (Alex) and our loyal, yet lazy dog Marty. The morning started about as normal as can be expected... The mother in law was staying the night with us, but all-in-all, it was a normal, bleary-eyed morning. My plan was to swing by the vet with the boys (and Court) in tow, and then head to work a bit late. Boy was I in for a surprise...

So we mosey on into the vet, convinced that we're 10 minutes late, only to find out we're 5 minutes early (the appointment was for 8:45, not 8:30, apparently). We then proceed to saunter back to the exam room where they do the normal stuff (shoving random objects up poor cats' butts). After a while, our vet drops in and proceeds to do the normal check-up stuff for the boys, when he gets to Marty, he stops, asked if he had a full breakfast, and looks generally concerned. After some discussion, it turns out that Marty's abdomen was more swollen than normal, so the vet suggests we have him x-rayed, which we dutifully do. After two sets of x-rays and a lot of sitting around (positive that our dog is deathly ill), the vet determines that there is, in fact, nothing wrong with Marty, but that he had a huge breakfast. Why was his breakfast so huge, you might ask? Well, it has something to do with our perfect dog availing himself to some... {ahem} "sand brownies". If you don't know what a sand brownie is, let me just point you to the cookie jar they come from...

Yum.

But in the end, Court & I were just super-relieved that our venerable old farm dog didn't have something seriously wrong with him. We would have preferred not to have had to spend all the money and time finding out he was fine, but we're glad he is. Man, dogs can be disgusting.