Maria’s cold found me and finally overcame me today, I stayed in bed for awhile after Maria got up. This is a rare thing, I fight this to the bitter end.

Generally speaking, Red is my comfort dog, or if you’re going by current terminology, my “emotional support” dog. When I am sick, he lies by my side like a Buddha statue, never moving an inch away from me, never letting me out of his sight.

He gets it.

Today, Maria brought Gus up to the bedroom, he wanted to sit with me, and I was suddenly blessed with the prospect of having not one but two comfort dogs (Delta Airlines, watch out.) These dogs are better than any ferret or rabbit or peacock if you ask me.

Gus, as you know, has megaesophagus, a disorder that sometimes causes spit-ups, vomiting and the regurgitation of food. It is often fatal, but we are hanging in there with Gus, and things have been good lately, I was happy to have him in bed, where he quite appropriately curled up and went to sleep right in the small of my back. Two dogs right by my side,  staying with me.

I could almost feel the cold receding, I even stopped coughing.I was comforted.

(Sadly, all the codeine cough medicine is gone, I drank it last night, things are still fuzzy but I’m not coughing, but I’m also seeing dancing bears in my sleep and there will be no more medicine. Now it’s up to God.)

At around 10:30, I woke up fuzzy and sniffly, and Gus, seeing me, put his ears back and wiggled for joy, he crawled right up along side me on the back, gave me a lick on the cheek, and then vomited on my chin, quickly and efficiently. I didn’t quite understand what happened at first, until the smell reached my nearby nose and I grasped it instantly and came right out of my stupor.

I jumped out of bed, scaring Red and causing him to jump up in the air, and Gus gulped and looked confused and a bit abashed. I took off my nightshirt, wiped my face off and surveyed the damage. Two of our three sheets and blankets were hit, and a pillowcase.

I tore them all off the bed (Gus, looking puzzled,  jumped off) and rolled them up into a wet and foul smelling ball.

We have learned when Gus vomits to watch out for collateral damage, that is the toughest to clean up. It’s quite amazing how fast a small dog’s vomit can travel in seconds.

I saved the pillow and one sheet, and Maria, hearing the rumbling from downstairs, came up just in time to help collect all of the sheets and pillowcases (and nightshirt) and take them down in the laundry room.

She is back in her Studio creating things, I am finishing up the laundry.

I have been thinking, of course, about what it means to have a Comfort Dog who throws up on me, a/k/a a Vomit Dog.

According to no less an authority than the federal government, a therapy dog (Red) and a comfort dog are different things. A therapy dog operates in non-emergency environments, like assisted care facilities or in shelters after hurricanes and fires. These dogs, trained to be accepting and gentle, are there to sooth.

The comfort dog is something else, and what it is isn’t all that clear. In many institutions, therapy dogs must be trained and certified, that is, put through a rigorous test of temperament and control.

Comfort dogs do not require any specific training, they simply must be needed for the comfort of their humans. Generally speaking, a comfort dog or other animal provides relief or support to people who need support in changing or frightening environments. People sometimes show doctor’s or therapist’s notes, but those are quite often not necessary. No corporation in the age of Twitter wants to tell people they can’t have a comfort dog or snake or rabbit on board.

If you look online, you can find a score of “comfort dog registration” sites that will offer you a regular or “deluxe” comfort dog registration certificate for anywhere between $99 and $299 dollars, depending on what kinds of vests, badges and accessories, certificates and access to lawyers that you want.

The certificates are, of course, legally meaningless, the only requirement is that you have a credit card, the people giving out the certificates have no interest in ever seeing you and your dog or knowing a thing about  you other than the expiration date on your card.

For $255, you do not get the Digital Registration Certificate or access to a “legal team,” and you might very well need it. For $299 you get the Digital Registration Certificate and the lawyers and also get a special certificate to present to an airline (also not a legal document.)

When Red became a Therapy Dog, I went to a trial center in Vermont where humorless people taunted him, poked him, yelled at him, provoked him with obnoxious dogs for many minutes, made me stand 40 feet away and get him to lie down, stay, and read the Bible in French.

It cost $40 and two thirds of the class failed. To me, the tag he wears means something, and I am proud of it, and him. It gives me a lot of confidence, and also provides legal and insurance protection. It also gives the people I see protection, which is the most important thing.

But I am always open to change.

I went on the Comfort Dog Registration site (you can do this too) and I e-mailed my “live” adviser. Desiree instantly came into the live window chat box.

Me: “I have a dog who vomits a lot? Is that a problem.?”

Desiree: “No.”

Can I call Gus a “Vomit Comfort Dog?”

Desiree: “Yes…What?”

I’ve decided to order a vest, handkerchief, badge and bumper sticker. They will all say: “Caution: Vomit Comfort Dog On Board.”