Polly Eats Poop

Yesterday I caught a whiff of something distinctive, something disgusting, something poopy. Sad to say, not an unusual smell here. I concluded that someone had pooped or that Georgie had belched. I was busy in the kitchen, so I told myself that it could wait until I was done with cutting up carrots, and that maybe one of the dogs would dispose of the poop before I got there. Georgie, setting his usual good example, has taught Patch and the puppies to eat poop, so I rarely have to scoop up a warm pile any more.

When I got to the living room, who was eating the poop?

Polly.

Polly, my little angel, my tiny dancer, my delicate, sweet flower of girlhood. Eating poop. Man, was that disillusioning.

So I said to her, "Polly, how will you ever get a date with poop on your breath?" and she flounced off.

I imagined Polly's Prince Charming (or Prince Charmin, as the case may be) taking her to a fine restaurant.

"What will it be tonight, my darling?" PC says to her. "Chateaubriand? Lobster? Foie Gras?"

And Polly says, "Sure, if I they use poop for the foie gras, and serve poop-mousse for dessert, and darling, please make sure the maids leave Andes Poop Mints on our pillows tonight."

Aack!

Kitchen Chaos

This illustration, from a calendar I had in 1994, shows exactly what happens in my kitchen day after day after day.

Sex after neutering? Explicit photo!

As far as I can tell, the only thing you accomplish by neutering or spaying an animal is population control. Neutering has never stopped any of my dogs or cats from peeing/spraying to mark their territory or leave messages (pee-mail, as we call it here). Nor has it prevented them from having an active (if ineffectual) sex life. The current canine crew is an equal-opportunity bunch. Meg humps her brothers and her mother, Berry humps all his siblings, his mother, and Polly, and so on. I've been told that the humping is a power thing, but it seems to me they do it for fun. And Berry and Teddy often enjoy (they're certainly smiling while doing it) what was called "69" when I was in high school. Berry does the -um, mouth work - while Teddy does his humping. It makes me laugh. Mr. Parker calls them ugly names that I won't repeat. My mom would catch them at it and exclaim, "Oh please, not before dinner!"

This photo is of our first Frenchie, Buster, whose toybox included a stuffed cat. The first thing Buster did after coming home from being neutered was hump that cat. And he continued doing it at every opportunity until the cat finally had to go to heaven.

What interests me about this is that Buster and the stuffed cat always did it missionary style, not doggy style.

He ain't heavy

Teddy sings: "He ain't heavy, he's my brother."

Then he thinks: Well, maybe a little heavy. But I don't mind, really I don't.

Only $640 for eyeglasses

In October 2009, I finally got a new pair of eyeglasses, with really nice frames and gradient bifocal lenses, for $320. The old ones were so bad, I could see better without them than with them. I just love my new glasses. When not wearing them, I usually stash them in an eyeglass case in my purse, safe behind the bedroom door, but one day I foolishly left them on the middle of the kitchen table. Also on the kitchen table that day: two baskets of prescription medication & vitamins (one for me, one for Mr. P.), a lazy Susan with salt, pepper, hot sauce, Molly McButter, and other necessities, 6 magazines, the grocery list, 2 placemats, 2 napkins, 1 pen, and 1 coaster. The value of the "also" items was altogether maybe half the value of the glasses. If you were a dog, which item would you choose? How about a magazine that you could shred into a zillion tiny pieces? Naw, that's no fun any more. How about a ballpoint pen, nice and crunchy, with a tasty filling of blue ink to stain the furniture? Naw, that's no challenge at all.

No, what Jinx chose was my eyeglasses. I heard a crunching noise and raced into the living room, but it was too late. Most of the (plastic) lenses had gone down his gullet and the frames were beyond rescue.

Today I picked up my replacement glasses, for another $320 ("My dog ate them" is not a sob story that earns a discount at Union City Eye Care).

One of my coworkers asked what became of my glasses and when I explained, she said, "Your husband is going to kill that dog." So true. And that's why I'm asking you not to tell Mr. P. If anybody kills Jinx over this incident, it's going to be ME.

Oh no, not again!

When I came home from work this afternoon, a new cat greeted me in the garage - a clean, pretty, mostly white chunkster. When I petted her, Miss Kitty and Smoky came charging out to object to sharing the affection. Then I forgot about the newcomer for a while, as I was a teeny bit preoccupied by the 7 dogs who claimed they had not been fed in at least 92 years.

When Mr. P. got home an hour later, he asked me if I had met our new boarder.

"You mean the new kitty?"

"Yeah," he said, "The pregnant one."

Oh, so that's why she's so chunky. That's just marvelous. According to Mr. P., she showed up last night, settled onto a doormat he had stashed on one of the storage shelves in the garage, and refused to leave. He says that Miss Kitty and Smoky are not at all happy about the new kitty but so far their hissing hasn't budged her.

"Just wait until her kittens arrive," Mr. P.

Oh no, not again!

Recovering from Saturday Night

Berry had quite a Saturday night, out partying with his pals. He explains:

So Zach got a text from this chick Ashley who sits in front of him in biology class telling us to head over to Brittany's house cuz her parents went to Bermuda for a week. Jake drove us there in his sister's VW bug, man it was like clowns in a circus car, me and Jake and Ryan and Justin and Carlos and Dylan and Dylan's Dark Fire Gibson he got for Christmas. Dylan never lets go of that thing, like it's his girlfriend or something, and he hasn't even taken one guitar lesson yet. Anyway, by the time we got there, there musta been 3000 kids there already, and Ashley's sister Kayla had some awesome weed and we all got baked. Man, I think I'm still baked. The last thing I remember is trying to bungee jump off the top of Brittany's little sister Amber's swing set, and then I woke up with my head stuck in the headboard of Mr. & Mrs. Wheaton's bed. So that's my story, and I'm sticking to it. Now I'm gonna take a nap, if that's OK with you?