When my daughter was two years old, I was making the bed one day when she came out of our bathroom chugging a glass of water.

I said, “Boy, you sure are thirsty!” Then I realized that I hadn’t heard any water running. I walked over to find a liquid trail from the doorway to where she had dunked her cup into the toilet. But, at least it was clean water. You know, with that bleach tablet in the tank and all.

Other than that, and my son once taking a sip of dishwasher rinse aid, I haven’t had to call poison control. However, if there was an emergency service to ask whether the dogs were going to die because of something they ate, I would have it on speed-dial.

Our 11 year old Labrador has been the worst culprit. There was the time she ate an enormous, solid, chocolate bunny, the time a chicken bone slipped out of my fingers and she caught it in mid-air and swallowed it whole, and my personal favorite…when she ate a breast pad when I was pumping for my daughter. By the way, there is something infinitely wonderful about a man who will go through the dog’s poop to make sure your breast pad hasn’t entangled itself in the mutt’s intestines. Hi honey!

As for the new puppy…she has a penchant for dead squirrels, dead birds and my son’s vomit.

And, that bleach-filled toilet water? It turns out the dogs like that too. I suppose I should count my blessings because my kids never ate any breast pads.

Tell me boys and girls, what’s the worst thing your kids (or pets) have ever ingested?

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Day before yesterday I laughed at someone for stepping on a dead baby bird. I didn’t find the dead bird funny, but rather the picture of grace which is the person slipping on a city sidewalk. I like to watch people fall. I love AFV. It’s kind of a sickness.

So guess who came to visit me yesterday? Karma. While working in the yard (okay, not so much working in the yard as spraying Round-Up on clovers that have apparently been sneaking steroids through the gate) I stepped on a dead baby bird.

You would think that was the worst thing I’ve ever stepped on.

Long ago, on a cruise, after a few too many drinks with mini-umbrellas and a certain ingredient that rhymes with “bum”, I left the ship’s dance club with friends. I was wearing high-heeled sandals that were killing my feet and decided to walk the carpeted halls barefoot.

As we rounded a corner, my bare foot landed squarely in a pile of someone’s fresh vomit.

It may have been 12 years ago, but I am still telling myself that it was just a spilled strawberry shake.

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