Today I was woken at 4.30am by dh claiming "The dog's being sick."
Just what you want to hear as you come hazily out of sleep. Staggered into dressing gown and downstairs with said pooch, opened the door into the garden and out scooted Tim. You may be interested to know that at that time of the day, this far north in the UK, we had a clear blue sky and a vague hint of sunshine. The birds were singing all around the garden. I caught sight of a snail still munching on my new lupin, so it joined its pals in a plastic container.(I caught three last night doing similar things) (Reminder to self: they're still in that container and need to liberated on the field.)
So, pooch was not sick, but - look away now if you are squeamish - defecated in three different spots in the garden. (Not to self: still to be bagged and cleared away.) He tried to eat the plastic container holding the snails, and when deprived of that, sat by his food bowl with one paw raised and offering an angelic expression.
I gave him a few biscuits and staggered back up to bed. Tim went to sleep immediately (dh wasn't even awake at this point) while I lay and thought Oh My God - it's Puppy School in three hours time.