A few weeks back Ramona was having problems coming back home from her potty break without foam coming from her mouth. Due to our vast experience with this in Miami, we suspected the culprit would be of the amphibian family. We did our best to locate the frog, which I did, but he got away. (Actually, I got away.) For days she had been coming home high with a foam mustache, until one day I decided to take a gander in the backyard. I discovered what looked like a shriveled leaf. A shriveled leaf?! Leafs don’t shrivel! What the…that’s a decomposing frog! Gross! I quickly and nervously herded the dumb dogs back inside and called Chris to tell him about our homicidal boxer with a sick obsession with frogs. I couldn’t look at her. Sometimes when she is that disgusting I can’t love her either. After a bath, she’s back to being queen.
While we were out of town, Uncle Jim wrote to us that one of the dogs smelled like a festering infection. I was a little offended by the claim; after all, we do bathe them about once a month, or at least whenever they play with dead animals. We wrote it off, until Chris called me from home the day before yesterday to tell me that they were frolicking in the woods and came back smelling of decomposition. He was certain that something was caught by our slow, fat Jake. It couldn’t have been Ramona, because she lacks the dexterity and is much less bendy. They were cordoned off on the deck all day, and when Chris left the house, he left them in the sun room. I arrived home first, to find a huge puddle of something in the sun room. It was colossal. Surely it couldn’t have been urine. It was a lagoon. I looked at the water jug, and it wasn’t there. Perhaps they knocked it off? I found it inside the kitchen on the counter next to the sink. Hmm. Dante was nowhere in sight. I decided to wipe a little with a paper towel and found it to be yellow in color. Tired of these idiots’ high jinks, I shooed them off to the deck again and fetched a bucket and a mop. I had just returned home from celebrating my raise (yes, I got it after three months!) and I didn’t appreciate coming home to a piss-soaked wood floor. I cleaned up and showered, and when Chris arrived I was coming out to dry and told them that it was his turn to care after the idiots.Yesterday we sent the Crime Scene Investigator (Chris) out into the woods and he finally discovered the D.B. of the small woodland creature, a decomposing squirrel. Nobody came to claim the body, so we discussed disposal. His vote is always to pitch it over the fence, but our neighbors have dogs too, and I didn’t want to engage in a game of rotting-corpse ping-pong with them. Even the abandoned house next door has a yard guy that comes at least once every two months to mow the wheat field. I could imagine that guinea bubba tossing it back and I’d be very ticked if I had to deal with that little nugget again. So it was decided that we’d bag it and trash it. The dogs got a bath, their linens washed and I can finally love them again. How cute are they?
3 comments:
First, I would never dream of tossing the dead squirrel in the yard with the neighbor dogs. I would throw it to the empty house because the critter would be dust before the yard guy came.
Second, look at Jake's fat hanging over his leg like a beer gut.
Congratulations on the raise! Rockin' good news.
You've met Lola. You know Jeremiah and I feel your pain. I'm reminded of the time I came home to find that a bottle of mineral oil had been devoured on our beloved dining room rug only to be reproduced in the form of a steaming pile of diarrhea on our(granted, less loved) living room rug. We just can't have nice things.
@sunglasses - I hate to say it, but Jake looks like a bloated corpse himself in that picture. Thank goodness he had the decency to cover his doggie junk with his crossed leg.
@LMP - MMM. Steaming diarrhea is my favorite. Thanks. I can't wait for my next paycheck. 10% more is going to rule.
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