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!
4 comments:
Miko does it too... and belches like a trucker... or like a supermodel.
Miko, too?
Oh dear. All my illusions have been crushed.
Every time I see Miko, I tell Polly that Miko is the pinnacle of pughood.
Please don't tell Polly that Miko eats poop. If she knows that, there'll be no stopping her.
We like to say around the Greyhounds...if they're a face-kisser, then they're a poop eater.
When Georgie tries to kiss me, I tell him, "No way. I know where that mouth has been."
They're either attending to personal hygiene (their own or another dog's), eating poop, or licking ears.
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