This morning, I was sleeping peacefully until my husband, upon heading to the shower, announced, “Fitz just threw up.” I opened my eyes and, right beside my pillow, I saw an unguent black mass that looked exactly and completely like an organ.

Lest I be accused of being melodramatic, I will say it wasn’t heart- or lung-esque. The deposit was more of the more minor, expendable organ brand, like an appendix or a gallbladder.

I screamed, of course, coupled my outburst with a few calls to God, and our puppy, the culprit, looked at me as if I also had just expelled an organ, one of the thinking variety.

I immediately jumped up to get a roll of paper towels (aside: I have used about a thousand million paper towels since becoming a dog mum) to pick up the mess. Upon closer inspection, I deciphered that Fitzgerald had thrown up a black hair band and pieces of rubber he’d chewed off the bottom of his food bowl.

Fitzi’s relationship with food or “food,” as the case may be, has fascinated me since he became part of our family.

Before adoption, we researched the pros and cons of homemade vs. raw vs. wheat free vs. organic vs. all-natural food. But shortly after his arrival, we realized our dog will basically eat anything and everything and, if he can help it, as fast as possible.

In fact, Fitzi’s meal time lasts exactly 34 seconds. I measure out the half cup of Iams and, with the pup spinning around in circles, bend over to place it into his food bowl. He immediately goes to town, often eating so fast that he chokes a few times.

Still, while Fitz mows down his meal and has limited access to variety, I still consider him a foodie. First off, he’ll do just about anything to eat. Sometimes he’ll hear the mere rustle of plastic — which he associates with treats because of the kinds of bags they all come in — and he’ll rush into the kitchen, skidding on the floor he’s running so fast. Then he’ll sit at attention, front paws together, bum down, head cocked, and look up hopefully at me. Meanwhile, I’ve opened an Amazon shipment.

Secondly, he’s not picky, which might be the single most important factor is defining a true foodie. Leaves, bushes, flowers, grass, worms, ants, beetle husks, deer droppings and, last Saturday, a chipmunk he caught, Fitzi has tried them all and I’m sure a lot more that I don’t happen to know about. There is part of me that is proud of that. You don’t want a dog — or a spouse, for that matter — who approaches food with trepidation. It’s like, you know what? Just try the damn sardine. Just eat the liver. Sure, some things might taste like black rubber, but, hell, live and learn.

Luckily, Fitz powered back quickly after his spew this morning. In fact, 10 minutes later, he was begging for breakfast. So my love for my perfectly perfect Perfect deepens and the day for our Foodie Fido begins.