Freak on a Leash
October 30th, 2006
We’ve got ants again, and while for normal people, ants wouldn’t be enough to elicit the unreasonable levels of panic, wonder and bald-faced terror we’re currently experiencing, it’s important to remember that this time last year, we were plagued with our first ant invasion. I don’t want to live through that again, because GAH, they were everywhere, and by everywhere, I mean they were in my pants (MY PANTS) and in my bed (MY BED). And one morning, I actually woke up with two ants crusted in my hair (MY HAIR). In fact, just thinking about any sort of ants in my house is enough to cement me to the spot in which I happen to be standing, frozen in terror, save for a few wild motions with my hands to scratch my head because my God, there could be ants in there, history has proven it.
I found them swarming on a stray piece of dog kibble left underneath Sunny’s feeding station like it was the only piece of kibble for miles. One piece of kibble – ONE – and suddenly we’re living an episode of canine Fear Factor, and I’d like to turn in her life vest and turn down the challenge on her behalf because we do not eat bugs in this house, how many times do I have to say it?
Speaking of hair, I neglected to mention that we left the dog with a new camp counselor this weekend, as her last one decided she could no longer tolerate her advances towards her precious little Maltese, and to that I say whatever, you wimpy little purse dog. So she spent the weekend at the home of another woman, which was awesome, as Sunny loves her and she loves Sunny and roses, sunshine and blah doggity blah, yay, camp!
Not that it’s ever come up, but I am staunchly against feeding people food to the dog, especially when people food eaters, aka people (uh, wow), are eating, because there is nothing – nothing- worse than trying to shove down a bite of steak in front of sad, roving eyes or worse, grabby little paws grabbing all they can, including that last bit of mashed potato you were dying to finish. Because, you know, everything counts in large amounts, especially mashed potatoes. I might add that this belief was solidified by the fact that I failed to follow this rule with our cat, and as a result, ended up with him actually trying to steal food from my lips on multiple tuna-laden occasions. And also, there was that one really fun time that he stole a tomato saucy chicken finger out of the garbage and brought it into bed with me. I’ve learned my lesson.
So Anna. Anna the camp counselor! Anna is Mexican, and has a pretty strong accent that can be tough to understand sometimes, particularly when crackled over a mobile phone line, but even so, when I called to inquire about the well-being of our little darling, I swear Anna said, “And she loves my corn empanadas! Loves them!”
CORN EMPANADAS. PEOPLE FOOD, likely given while people are eating dinner. When I protested, I sensed some backpedaling and “I kid! HA!” and she didn’t repeat it and instead tried to distract me with some kind of wildly cute talk that involved Sunny and her six-month old daughter and I foolishly didn’t pursue the empanada discussion because Sunny and babies and googly oogly cuteness! Puppies! Babies! Ooh!
Fast forward to this morning, 6 a.m. (Because the pets don’t understand daylight savings time, the little fuckers, and there was screaming for breakfast beginning at 5, so help me God). First of all, what’s with all the neighborhood activity? There were at least 10 people out and about and being active, including an entire family of five in their front yard who was busy putting up Halloween decorations at 6 a.m., including a tombstone-like thing that talks in some sort of ominous voice, while skinny skeletal legs wiggle around and the theme from The Addams Family plays at a decibel level completely unsuitable for 6 a.m.
And it went off at precisely the moment when Sunny was pooping and it scared the shit out of both of us, and when Sunny gets scared while she’s pooping? Shit goes down. Or up, rather, because she kicks her legs like a bull getting ready to charge the red cape while she looks about nervously, and the debris goes flying everywhere, and I mean EVERYWHERE. And today that debris included grass and poop, which took a detour past my hair and landed in the crook of my arm, which also included corn, which meant that there were totally empanadas consumed on Anna’s watch. Thanks a bunch, Anna! My dinners will never be the same!
Also, this is not the first time poop has gone flying into my hair and body when she kicks like that. It happens about once every week, almost always in the mornings when I am too slow to catch on, and why God, why? And do any dog owners know how to stop the kicking?
*Korn. And here’s where I reveal how immature and small I actually am, because while I realize that poop humor is the lowest form of amusement, there are times when I just can’t help myself. One of the greatest moments in my friendship with my friend Erica was when we were discussing bad band names over IM, and one of us typed ‘Korn’ and instantly we were horrified, because you CANNOT think of Korn without thinking of corn poop, and we both knew it. KORN POOP.
Entry Filed under: Nuttin'
21 Comments Add your own
1. Jamie | October 30th, 2006 at 9:12 pm
Can I come live with you? Things like this simply do not happen in my life…I have no good stories.
And OH YES, yes to the corn poop. That is precisely what I thought of.
2. Orange Peacock | October 31st, 2006 at 7:05 am
Corn poop…Korn poop…nope, didn’t make that one on my own. I’m just so glad all I have is a guinea pig, with nice contained pelleted poop.
Man, I’m going to be thinking about this all day!
3. Jamie | October 31st, 2006 at 7:48 am
Oh, and about the kicking. It’s instinctual for them to drop their scent (thereby marking their territory), then distribute it via the kicking. The key is to pick up the poop before the kicking begins – which, I admit, is a gamble. Good luck!
4. jonniker | October 31st, 2006 at 7:54 am
Oh thank you, Jamie. Except, I have NEVER managed to pick up the poop first, which usually leaves me no other option than to yell, “NO NO NO O NO NO NO” in an effort to dissuade the kicking before poop comes raining down on us. Ducking and moving out of the way seems to be the only way to avoid it, and in the evenings, I’m more adept at it than mornings, I guess.
5. Claire | October 31st, 2006 at 8:09 am
Interesting. With all the problems i have with my two dogs, neither of them kick their poo. Which, not for nothing, is lucky for me because the 120lb dog has proportionally large poop. And getting hit with that would probably make me cry every morning.
You know.
And also – i support you 100% in your efforts to not feed her people food. Nobody likes a begging dog, especially when they are small enough to just jump on the damn table and snatch it themselves. That would make me crazy.
6. Zoot | October 31st, 2006 at 8:17 am
We feed our dogs people food – but NOT from the table. Most of the time. Not. Sometimes, maybe. But, not often.
And seriously? Are the people out there who have not thought about KORN POOP. ‘Cause I have.
7. Lawyerish | October 31st, 2006 at 8:18 am
I wholeheartedly support the no-people-food-for-dogs system. And I would have gotten medieval on anyone who gave my dog people food, let alone corn empanadas. Oh, the horror.
8. Moose | October 31st, 2006 at 10:57 am
I will never ever be able to look at corn empanadas again without thinking about what landed in the crook of your arm.
9. Erica | October 31st, 2006 at 10:59 am
The fact that we both burst out laughing at “Korn” at the same time – without having to say WHY – is only one of the bazillion reasons that I find you to be one of the best human beings ever. Because how can you not think of poop after someone has said (or typed) “corn” or “Korn” or any variation thereof???
Corn is really one of life’s little riddles isn’t it? Why aren’t we able to digest something that is just so delicious? Why must we see it again?
10. Christine | October 31st, 2006 at 11:23 am
I’d like to say I’ve never given a dog people food, but it would be a lie. BUT it is always around non – people meal times. Just to avoid the confusion. Because a begging dog? not fun.
11. Beth | October 31st, 2006 at 11:36 am
Okay, first? Ew! Poop in the crook of your arm is too disgusting for words. Second, my sister’s dog kicks after pooping, and I just stand waaaaay back. He also likes to poop up against bushes and trees, so I’ve learned to pull him away so he poops in an open area — much easier to pick up. Ever try retrieving poop from bush branches? I tried it…once. ;^)
12. Leah | October 31st, 2006 at 12:07 pm
I don’t know how you do it. I want to follow you around with my camera. I’ll be the one in a helmet.
Also, in my house, we feed pets from the table, but we don’t pick up their poo (see also: why cats are better than dogs).
13. jonniker | October 31st, 2006 at 12:10 pm
But…Leah, dude. What about the litter box? Do you not have to scoop it? I love my cat, but even with the poop showers, there is something so SATISFYING about never having to bring my dog’s poop into the house. She poops, I bag, we throw it away outside. The litter box stays there, and the poop remnants LINGER IN THE BOX.
Also, I feel compelled to point out to the group at large that the poop-arm incident doesn’t bother me as much as it apparently bothers most of you. I mean, it’s icky, but it didn’t really bother me as much as the corn in it did, which is apparently scary, given y’all’s reaction. Is that I’ve grown accustomed to the handling of dog poop? Have I lost all sense of cleanliness? Any dog owner care to chime in?
14. Claire | October 31st, 2006 at 12:28 pm
Re: Dog Poop – When i became a dog owner x 2, i learned that never in my life have my thoughts revolved around poo, in any sense, ever before like it does when you have animals (and from what i hear, children help that too). Between scheduling poop times, studying poop for color / constitution / firmness, and then picking it up with a thin plastic baggie, it really no longer disgusts me.
However, that doesn’t mean that it wouldn’t bother me to have it flung at my head by a kicking dog. Yuck.
15. Jamie | October 31st, 2006 at 1:51 pm
I think it’s the parental thing – Doc threw up on me just a week or so ago, and my first thought was, “Oh my God, is he alright?” and I had to fight back the urge to sift through the vomit to see what foreign object he had eaten. HE HAD JUST THROWN UP DIRECTLY IN MY LAP. YES.
When you’re responsible for something, the definition of “gross” is relative.
16. Heather B. | October 31st, 2006 at 2:00 pm
Ok, well then you’ll hate me as I used to fee the dogs that I dogsat for, french fries from McD’s. Whoops.
17. Jen W. | October 31st, 2006 at 5:24 pm
My dogs kick too, but I guess because their legs are so short, it NEVER goes flying in the air. I am all for the no-people-food-for-dogs rule. Delaney has such a sensitive stomach that anytime she got a piece of something other than her expensive as shit dog food, she would promptly barf. Which is gross, but not as gross as KORN POOP.
18. suze | October 31st, 2006 at 5:49 pm
see, corn poop is totally not where my brain goes when I read/hear corn/Korn. Which obviously means I am so not cool enough to play in your sandbox. *hangs head in shame…*
19. Yez | October 31st, 2006 at 5:54 pm
SO glad I have a beagle. (Are pugs known for poo-kicking, or am I just lucky that Sammy is no quarterback?)
I (under my rock) am apparently the sole person on the planet who does not make the automatic corn->poop association. I think that’s because, years ago, a friend described the result of his cat having chewed Christmas present ribbons (NOOOOOOO!) as “festive poops” :> so I have that umbrella category, encompassing all manner of surprising deposits. (I also feel somewhat immune to such surprises, being a veteran of The Diaper Years.)
20. Jurgen Nation | October 31st, 2006 at 7:18 pm
AAAAHHA! This post has me in tears!! I needed this. Hoo! HILAR.
21. Gentry | November 1st, 2006 at 12:18 pm
Jonniker! Stand in front of Sunny when she poos. Much like the rule never walk behind a horse, you should never stand behind a pooing pug.
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