That’s actually apropos of nothing, but my mother said that’s the kind of book that would grab my aunt’s attention and cause her to read it. She evidently likes intriguing starts.
So Beloved wasn’t completely enthusiastic about my latest musical endeavor (I tend to make up songs, and what I lack in artistic ability I compensate with raw power. I started my dubious relationship with the arts by singing in the church youth choir – I can carry a tune and I can lead a congregation astray by force of will. Mr. Hollingsworth, if you can read this… I’m really sorry for the number of times St. Paddy’s had a dreadful processional in the 1970s due to my poor behavior.)
But back to today’s song. We got our delivery of Purina something-something Sport dog food (the type GDA requires) from Chewy. Who can but break into song when presented with a large bag of canine happiness?
So, my off the cuff piece (you’ll have to contact me if you want the tune):
Eighteen pounds of puppy food
Means twenty pounds of poo!
Don’t know how she man’ges it,
But it’s something she can do.
Eighteen pounds of puppy food
Means twenty pounds of poo…
And MAN can that dog crap! (That last sentence isn’t part of the song.)
I’ve been trying to increase the amount of participation in family activities, so yesterday morning while Beloved was having a very-well-deserved snooze in, we went to the feed store and to Walmart.
It’s never a smart thing to take a dog into the cat food section of the pet feed store. When it’s a guide dog in training and you’re desperately trying to keep control of her it becomes all the worse.
Dog: Oh my God! I have reached the promised land!
Me: Knock it off.
Dog: I don’t even know where to go with this… it’s… it’s… so… INCREDIBLE.
Me: Sit down (okay, okay, it involved a synonym for bottom and the phrase “on the floor”).
Dog (scornful look): Why don’t you feed me THIS??
Me: Because… it’s cat food. For cats. Like… MaeMae? For whom we are shopping right now?
Dog: You feed her this miracle of deliciousness and you give me pellets??
I don’t know what it is, but somehow dog food tastes better to cats and vice versa. We used to have a devil of a time keeping Abby and Piggy from switching dishes. They were in total agreement: switch as soon as the peoples don’t look.
Thing is, though, she’ll dance through a hedge backwards to get one of those heart-shaped pellets. I don’t know what she’s complaining about.
I, however, have reason to complain. Lately her devilment involves toilet paper. I understood it when she was teething – her mouth was sore and she was bleeding a bit from her gums. Now, she’s got no excuse.
She grabs the end of the roll and runs like the wind while chewing off chunks. By the time you catch her she’s talking like she’s just undergone serious dental surgery and you’re digging a wodge of loo paper outta her maw.
For all the toilet paper she’s consumed, you’d think it was May 2020 again. And yes, we DO take the paper off the holder but unfortunately, in the downstairs bath, the setup is such that there is literally NO WHERE to put the bog roll if not on the holder.
Before you say “um… back of the toilet… DUH!” I say to you, not possible. Don’t believe me? Take a gander:
I think this is one of the most clever inventions. You flush using the hand-washing water of the person before you. The fresh water which would fill the tank first goes out the spigot and the water drains into said tank.
You’re only washing with clean water (and it’s ludicrous to flush the bog with fresh water) – so the water in the bowl has a mildly soapy look to it. Whatever.
Back to the issue at hand. There’s no-where to put the loo roll unless you put it on the sink, but that means the poor unfortunate user has to penguin-walk over to it to get their supplies. Hence the torn up looking roll in the pic… yon doggo was here.
We do our best to keep the bathroom doors shut, but with two young men living with us, it doesn’t always happen. That and yon dog has a tendency to sneak in while you’re washing your hands (after giving her treats or whatever) then merrily sprint out, white streamer trailing after her.
The other thing that happened today was she got into the honeysuckle in the back yard. The side bank is covered in the wretched stuff – it’s like a field of overly thick ivy. Years ago, we had a cat who used pine pellets for cat litter – so I’d scoop the poop and, figuring the pile of nitrogen-rich (courtesy of the cat) sawdust could go on the yard rather than in the bin, I was piling it out on that bank, thinking it might be a decent fertilizer.
The honeysuckle lost it’s mind. You almost expect Indiana Jones to hack his way outta the hedge, it’s so big.
The cat enjoys bouncing around in there, but to date the dog hasn’t attempted it. Until today.
Thing was, she made it in there… but getting out was a little beyond her furry brain. She loved it at first, but when it was time to leave, she sat there miserably, silently asking how to extricate herself. That’s not a short wall, and the dirt is probably 18” down from the top of it… so there’s a lot of vines to get through.
For all it looks soft, honeysuckle is actually quite scratchy. Especially when attempting to lift a hesitant 43 pound dog from a foot away from you.
ExaminingMisadventures 