This is a really gross story, read at your own risk!
My dear, departed Monte was my first Italian greyhound and lived to be 16 without a sick day in his life until the very end. He was the greatest dog ever, but what I'm about to tell you was a definite low point...
Let me take you back about 15 years ago when Don and I were living in the Boston area. He was in graduate school and I was working in the management office of an apartment building. This building had several apartments that were reserved for the elderly and they were available for a very low price. Along with these price perks, the seniors were also given free hot lunches a couple times a week.
Very often, there were leftover lunches and some of the sweet old ladies would bring them to me so I could take them home for dinner. They were usually pretty gross and on this particular day it was really gross--I think the lunch was supposed to be Swedish meatballs and it looked like pale lumps in a grayish sauce. I didn't want them and I was pretty sure Don wouldn't want them either (he's very squeamish about food) but I took them because I didn't want to hurt the ladies' feelings.
When I brought them home and showed them to Don, he practically backed out of the room making a choking sound. "Get rid of them!" he gagged. I would have put them down the garbage disposal but it was broken (that story would be called "When Don Poured Muriatic Acid and Fish-Tank Gravel Down the Garbage Disposal and Broke it) and I didn't want to put it in the garbage can. "Give it to the dog," Don said, still gagging.
I was hesitant because I didn't usually give many table scraps to Monte, but I thought it would be a special treat for him, so I set the Styroform container on floor.
The amazing thing about watching Monte consume those meatballs was that he did not chew--at all. You know those hose things that you attach to the vacuum cleaner so you can get the dirt out of the sofa cushions? It was like his snout turned into one of those hoses and he just sucked up everything in record time.
Don and I watched in amazement as Monte inhaled them without even stopping to breathe. When he was done, he stood there motionless for a moment or two. Then I saw his whole body ripple and contract and I knew he was "rejecting" the meatballs.
Sure enough, the vomiting started ,and it was equally gross and amazing at the same time because when the meatballs "came back" they were perfectly intact. If he had vomited onto a platter, the meatballs and sauce would have looked "ready to serve."
It's about to get a lot grosser...
Within moments of the vomiting, Monte went back into "vacuum mode" and began re-sucking up the regurgitated meatballs. Don and I watched in horror, but this time it looked like he was going to keep them down. Monte stumbled off somewhere to sleep off his meatball-fest and Don and I went on with our evening.
Later, when we were watching t.v., Monte staggered into the room and proceeded to have the worst diarreah attack imaginable!! I'll spare the gory details--but it was BAD!! The next half-hour or so involved a lot of screaming and swearing and crying as we tried to clean this unthinkable mess off the carpet.
Wait! There's more!
What I didn't realize was that Don was attempting to flush his wads of soiled paper towels down the toilet! By the time I noticed what he was doing, it was too late--the toilet backed up and overflowed, flooding the bathroom and adjoining hall with brown meatball-diarreah water.
And there you have what might be the grossest pet story ever!!