Cone Head Puker

This morning I got out the shower only to find my dog standing by the bedroom door gagging. I naturally screamed at him and then catapulted myself down the stairs all the while holding a towel over his mouth, which is no small task when the dog has a fing cone on his head the whole time praying he wouldn't yack in the house. As I try to open the door he chops me at the knees with his cone in an attempt to try to get out of the door that is not even unlocked yet. I finally open the door to a three degrees gush of air and consider myself victorious that I do not have to clean up dog puke. I was starting to get a little cold because I had only taken the time to throw on a pair of thongs, bra, and camisole.. not exactly three degree winter apparel. Regardless of the lack of clothing I decide to just wait it out downstairs since I figured he was pretty close to letting the yack fly when we were up in the bedroom. Five minutes pass, then another five minutes, and then I decide that this fing dog is making me late so I look at the window and the bastard is no where in sight. I of course run to the backdoor (mind you what I am wearing) and proceed to scream threats and obscenities at him. Much to my dismay I realize the asshole is not making an appearance and all I can think about is that I am going to have to hurdle out into the snow with only my underwear and camisole on to save him for the most certain death of meeting a car. I open the door to scream some more, oh yeah I forgot to mention it is 6:15am, with no response. So I dash upstairs to go put some pants on since my rational mind takes over that at 3 degrees I am not going to last long dashing around my yard trying to reign in my 90 pounder. Just as soon as I rip my sweat pants on I hear something in the backyard. I turn off the lights in my bedroom just in time to see that big bastard came dashing back around the side of the house and straight up to the backdoor no doubt wondering where the hell I was to let him in. I run back downstairs to give him a piece of my mind and am so pissed that I yell at him through the door before I deem it is time for him to come back into the warm house, yeah the neighbors think I'm normal. He barges in with his ENTIRE cone head FULL of snow. Like he took the fing cone and used it as a fing shovel across our entire backyard. Snow proceeds to make a victory lap around the kitchen until I reign him on the rug in front of the backdoor where I take the once puke catcher towel and use it to grab handfuls of snow out of his cone. (The entire time I am cussing at him of course.) He prances behind me upstairs catching his cone on everything which causes huge scraping noises. Mind you my 2-yr old is still sleeping and I want her to keep on sleeping however fat chance in hell when the hellion to my left is causing a sound that basically resembles beating a hammer on each rail up the stairs. He jump on the bed, then jumps down... I look at him and he starts to gag again.
I told him F NO! He could puke in the bathroom for all I care but if he yacked on the carpet or on the bed I was giving him away. Needless to say he kept it down but also needless to say here comes my kid staggering down the hall towards my room due to all the ruckus. He goes to sniff her and instead basically snow plows her over with his cone since his cone is frozen stiff and does not bend with the impact of her body.
This causes her to cry and me to scream at him some more. I finally get her to calm down and tell him to get back up on the bed since I was not taking him outside again wherein he leaps for the bed, catches my big toe in his cone and practically rips it off. While I am grabbing my toe in pain I see my daughter fling herself on the pillows so as to not get taken out once again by the cylindrical death trap and then triumphantly proclaim, "Mommy I moved so Murphy wouldn't get me!" What could I do but congratulate her?