What followed

I phoned poison control for dogs and  immediately found I was to pour hydrogen peroxide down doggie throats. According to Marguerite, who arrived in time to join the party, I said on the phone "Oh, the brown dog, uh, she's a bitch and she weighs....um 50 pounds and Mickey, he's the little one and he has diabetes. Er...I give him ten units twice a day. What does he weigh? Well, less than Winnie or the puppy...only the puppy's the youngest of the Great Dane puppies and he weighs a lot more than Mickey. He's a boy dog. So's the Great Dane only we got him fixed. The puppy's too young..."

Marguerite thinks I'm a disgrace, but she started in with the hydrogen peroxide like the pro she is. Mickey refused to disgorge and the nice people on the phone told us to run him around. We were six in the kitchen, three people, three dogs.( Our guest had been withdrawing all night, and who could blame her?) There was damn little room to run a dog around. Earlier we'd put the puppy in a big plastic bin until it'd dawned on us that the vomit would go outside the container. John had gone for absorbent newspaper only to find that newspapers are now a compendium of adverts all of which are printed on glossy paper.

John was running Mickey up and down. Marguerite simply shook him.

Total damage: two brown lumps from Mickey, a forlorn scrape of red foil from Grover, from Winnie-a chocolate fountain.

Back on the phone"Sure, we'll take them to the emergency vet, sure, we're leaving now."

Total damage, dogs all well. We're hoping that the bank will give us a fifth mortgage on the house.
(Emergency vets make out like bandits-rather, -like corporate CEOs)