Wallace And Gromit In The Jam Jar

No, that’s not a misprint, and I’m not on drugs. It’s cockney rhyming slang, but I won’t translate it just yet, you’ll pick it up as I go along.

So, Wednesday was Halloween – you didn’t need me to tell you that, I know. So what better way to celebrate Halloween than taking the puppy to the vet and groomers, before dressing him up and parading him around the neighbourhood. Yes, I am cruel. Now, Sir Crosserston really doesn’t like car travel. No siree. He’s not annoying, he just gets a little car-sick. So off we drove to the vets in the rental car I’d picked up from Hertz the night before…

Three dry heaves later, and we arrived; things were going well. I won’t go into the details of the vets, suffice to say he was violated in just about every orifice available to Dr. Amanda, and he was a perfect pooch throughout. Dr. Amanda even gave him a couple of biscuits for being so good. Lots of vaccinations, heartworm medicine, ear drops, and $250 later, and off we set for the groomers. I ended up staying at the groomers, as it was also a puppy-merchandise superstore; all sorts of goodies and clothes and sofas and booties and toys and food and beer and wine and… Yes, you heard me, doggie beer and wine. Ninety minutes later, and a new leash and collar, a frisbee and some treats, and a very handsome Sir Crosserston stepped back into the car.

So, we had another twenty minutes of driving to survive the potential of the hurl. But I had started to see a pattern; he’d lie down, stand up, go rigid, then attempt to throw up. So each time he tried to stand up, I squashed him back down again. Simple right? Well, it would have been if I’d figured out the pattern correctly. Nope. Now we were having lying down dry heaves. Still no expulsion though, and only 3 blocks until we were home. Next problem in my mind was that I had 15 minutes left on the car rental, still needing to put gas in the car and make it all the way across town. Chances were not looking good. As I was thinking this, Crossers was going through his 8th dry heave, then *GUSH*. Yes, gush. Projectile vomiting all over the seat, passenger door, floor and dashboard. I didn’t even know dogs could vomit with such projection.  Luminous yellow vomit sprinkled with biscuit. Thanks Dr. Amanda. Thank-you very much.

So Sir Crosserston was rushed into the house, and I came back out with paper towels. And started to scoop. I now had a luminous yellow driveway, and faded yellow colouring on the passenger side of the car. More scrubbing later, and it didn’t look too bad. Not too bad for a car that had been subject to puppy projectile vomit anyway. Horrific traffic meant that I decided not to refuel, and still ended up late at the Hertz Local Edition office. Oh how I usually hate you, Hertz Local Edition, as everything takes so long, and none of your employees really care about anything. Suddenly though, this was a glorious place to return. Driving up to the un-manned 7th floor, where nobody will check the car. Taking the elevator back down to the office. “Any problems with the car?” … “Nope” … “Did you fill up the car with gas?” … “Nope, and I didn’t pick it up full of gas either” (not a lie – it was 3/4 full) … “Oh, OK, that’s fine – here’s you receipt”. And I walk out unscathed… Ah, the occasional joys of incompetency.

And Crosser’s punishment for the Wallace and Gromit (vomit) in the Jam Jar (car)? Of course I wouldn’t punish him; it was pre-arranged punishment before the vomiting occurred. That’s right, the previously promised appearance of Crossersaurus Rex:




~ by eddie on November 2, 2007.

6 Responses to “Wallace And Gromit In The Jam Jar”

  1. Aww . . . he looks SO HAPPY!!! Just like Larry the Labster!!!

  2. I didn’t know you loved him so much I would be picking up the “dog and bone” right now to get on to relevant authorities.

    First you subject him to the torture that is the “jam jar”, then the probing, back to “the jar” where to make the journey easier you effectively stick your fingers down his throat, and then worst of all you dress the poor lad up in that costume….and if I am not mistaken (and I could be, not being a dog shrink or anything) he looks a little saddened by the whole humiliating experience.

    On the flip side…he looks damn cute and the ladies seem to love it…..Ah! he’ll get over it…I say roll with punches Cros!

  3. That was missing an “If” up front by the way…..not even been drinking!

  4. And “if” I was a good friend, I would edit your post for you. But I’m not into the whole censorship thing, so I’ll leave it as it is.

    Crossers was SO happy to be wearing the costume that he was biting it and rolling around the floor in it. That’s the sign of a happy dog.

  5. That poor, poor puppy. That second photo, I didn’t see before. There is a special pool of vomit in his stomach, reserved for when you least expect it, in your loafers.

  6. He’s a happy puppy. And in that picture he’s saying, “Thanks for a great Halloween, Dad. I had such a fun time being a dinosaur that I need to take a little rest here while I think about the many ways I love you…”. Or something like that.

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