You know that person who sneezes really loud? Everyboby knows that one. They make a huge dramatic production out of sneezing. Their sneezes literally have three acts complete with suspense, soliloquies, and a denouement. And it's all for show. Your God Bless You is their curtain call. It's quite annoying.
And they ain't got nothing on my dog.
Kristin and I got home from dinner, and just as I was settling into my office chair for round two of my work day I start to hear my male dog, Kimo, sneezing downstairs. Each sneeze is followed by a thud. After the third sneeze-thud combo I hear Kristin calling to him, "Kimo, Kimo, no, buddy, no, Kimo no." And the sneeze-thud continued and her pleas for him to stop grew more desperate sounding.
So I run down the stairs to see what's going on just as he finishes his 9th or 10th sneeze. There's blood on the floor in the hallway. There's blood on the floor in the kitchen. Kimo -- completely unfazed mind you -- is in the living room licking his foot.
He was sneezing so violently that he repeatedly slammed his snout on the floor with such force that he gave himself a bloody nose. Over and over. Each sneeze was loud and violent and immediately followed by a hearty thud -- his head hitting the bamboo flooring. With each sneeze he blew a fine mist of mucous and bloody spittle, and with each sneeze-thud he hurt himself a little more, causing a little more blood to leak. He never wimpered. He never even made a peep, save for the ridiculously loud canine ahh-choo. And the thud.
Kristin and I instantly surrounded him and were hugging and petting him, trying to provide comfort after this insane display of unintentional masochism. He just licked a little blood off his feet, licked his nose, and smiled at us as if to say, "What's up with you two?"
It's times like this when I really start to wonder exactly what goes on with these dogs when we're not around.