If you follow me on Instagram you’ve likely already heard this story, but here’s the extended version.
Roe seemed a bit down as we were going to bed. I thought the sound of ice breaking off the tin roof was making him nervous so I let him climb under the blankets to snuggle. That seemed to help, so I dropped the blanket and left him to dig around in the sheets and get comfortable. Then I heard the dreaded “blarghff” noise. You know the one. The one where you hope it was just a wet burp, but deep down you know it isn’t.
Turns out he actually had an upset stomach. And here’s the thing, being a young male Roe eats a lot. 14 ounces in a day, or 7 ounces per meal. Of raw. And that night he’d had a pretty big drink of water before bed. I flipped back the blanket to find that he had violently ejected 7 ounces of liquified quail and like half a cup of water. And being under the blankets it hadn’t just settled into a puddle either. Nope, it was all over the sheets, me, and himself. It instantly soaked through down into the mattress and up into the duvet. It was everywhere. It was vompocalypse. Then he ran out from under the blankets and tracked puke over my pillow.
“Get up” I told Jordon, “quickly! Before it soaks through to the mattress! Up, up, up!” Like a fool I was still clinging to a bit of optimism at this point.
“What? Oh, okay” was his response. I set to work trying to pull the sheet off without spilling the puddle of vomit. The sheets were stuck. I looked over and Jordon still hadn’t moved.
“I said get up! Oh, it’s too late. It’s everywhere. It soaked through. We’re screwed.”
The first order of business was to get the sheets off before more could soak through, collect them into a neat little bundle so none of it would spill on the carpet, dump the puke in the toilet, and get them into the washing machine. Then we got Roe cleaned up. Then I was finally able to change into new pajamas.
So I spent my night scrubbing my mattress, then we sat with a hair dryer, drying it so we could go to bed. The sheets have been washed twice but they still smell like partially digested quail. Which, slightly horrifyingly, smells like roast turkey. You’d think that would be a good thing. It’s not.
One small mercy was that it was ground quail, and not a whole quail with feathers. I think I’d have just dragged the mattress outside and burned it if there had been feathers.
Yes, he still slept on the bed.