I dropped Missy off at a friend's house tonight. Bucket decided he'd like to go for a ride with me.
We were listening to a Tim McGraw cd. More accurately, I should say I was belting out the words to "Indian Outlaw" when I noticed Bucket make a funny sound. I glanced over and saw him curled up in a ball, gulping.
Oh crap.
I stopped singing, hit the power window for his side, un-clicked his seatbelt, and grabbed him by the back of his shirt, just as he bolted out of his seat, hung his head out the window and puked all over the side of my car.
He did about four or five good heaves, and sat back down, whimpering.
I said, "You poor thing. Feel better?"
He said, "Yes, I'm glad you knew I was going to throw up before I did."
Awwwww. Strange words to make a mother's heart proud.
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