I rarely puke. From my dear father I inherited the iron stomach. No amount of wine, beer, or liquor (and sometimes all three in one night) will turn the thing. I am not sure whether to brag about it or be appalled. Let’s just move on.
Raleigh is a puker that needs very little prompting. Unfortunately, she also craves a variety of things that are likely to come right back up again. And all of them can be found in Prospect Park’s overflowing and inadequately small trash cans.
This morning was the first smorgasbord of the season. She ate chicken, napkins, bread, and mystery meat.
The Owner
Raleigh
Raleigh Pop 