Anywho, work has been hectic due to the fact that I have actually been GETTING work and my social life has been a-buzz due to the fact that I got my lazy arse off the couch and started going out into the sunlight again. So sadly that left very little time for da blog. But I'm back peeps, more inspired and (apparently) more ghetto than ever, isn't that right Pump Boy??
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| She's da shizz...I mean what I say because my underwear is on the OUTSIDE... |
Erm, OK. Moving on...
What I really wanted to talk about today wasn't some schmuck in Lycra, but rather a more pressing topic. It's current, it's fresh and it effects everyday people, just like you and me *looks you straight in the eyes and pauses for dramatic effect*
Yes readers, today we are going to be discussing the horrid, disgusting, disease-infested things my dog eats. Don't pretend you weren't just wishing the other day that someone would create a Facebook fan page for this.
Here's my dog, Marley:
He's extremely cute, boisterously playful, pretty loyal, and he seriously does like long walks on the beach and dinner by candlelight. Actually that last one he isn't too phased about. He'll eat by candlelight, in complete darkness, under strobe lighting while disco music is cranked...whatever. He's also not too worried about what it is exactly he eats, as I have recently come to realise, and this is where the problem lies.
See, I thought "Ray" and I were having problems with him before. A few months back I wrote on my Facebook that I had found a knife in Marley's water bowl one day. At the time, I had come up with 3 possibilities as to why my dog's bowl had been accosted with a dangerous implement:
- Marley had found it somewhere in our overgrown, rain forest-like backyard,
- My 82 year old grumpy neighbour, Dennis, had thrown it over the back fence in an attempt to KILL my dog (sure, Marley is a bit of a barker but seriously Dennis, do you think my dog is going to knife HIMSELF?!?), or
- Marley had obtained the knife for his own protection due to the fact he had joined a gang and he was now up to his overgrown ears in crime and thuggery.
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| Ghetto Marley... |
Well, after rationally thinking about it, I realised that my precious, 15 month old German Shepherd Kelpie cross was clearly a criminal and was soon to be wearing gang colours. I was beside myself. Not only did this mean that violence, crime and gang life had been brought into my once safe home, but it now also meant that I would have to hunt down doggy bandannas in the correct colours - I was unable to determine whether my puppy was going to be blues or bloods, but either way, I had to go shopping. Lucky for me however, Marley became very quiet over the following days and I could only put it down to one thing: he was keeping a low profile. After a week or so of no blood shed, break ins or bandannas, I figured my smart lil' puppy had managed to evade a life of crime and had avoided the clutch of thuggery.
Marley: 1. Dog Crims: 0.
I thought things were back to normal - myself, "Ray" and Marley went about living our lives and it was all. good.
Until this week.
It started as any other week, however by Monday evening, something disturbing had taken place that made me think that perhaps Marley would have done quite well and prospered in a gang. After all, he seems to have established a taste for flesh.
SO...I'm standing in my kitchen, getting ready to walk the dog. I look out my back window and see Marley watching birds fighting in a tree. No biggie, whatever floats your boat, Marls. Then the birds both fall from their branch and into a flower pot sitting on a ledge. Marley makes a run for the birds; one flies away, but the other is too DAMN SLOW and is flailing in my pot when Marley jumps out, grabs it with his mouth and chomps it. RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME!!! I HAD JUST EATEN A HANDFUL OF SULTANAS! (I don't know what that has to do with anything, but at the time it all just seemed related). Marley then took the bird over to our lawn while I screamed bloody murder (like that was actually going to HELP). "Ray" managed to get out there quick enough to shoo Marley but alas, the bird was already a big, fat DEAD. Extremely traumatising for me as I have a completely ridiculous and irrational bird phobia, utterly gross for "Ray" who I made clean up the mess, and a little bit lethal for the bird, for obvious reasons.
Marley: 2. Dumbf**k bird: 0.
So that upset the start of the week, but the FOLLOWING DAY it only got worse. I had worked all day and came home to my husband in the late afternoon. On the way in, I stopped at my side fence and gave my dog a pat. Because of the bird incident the day before, neither "Ray" or I had walked Marley, because, you know...he was totally ewww. Actually, we had both refused to give him ANY attention for the remainder of the day, so as he happily watched me get out of my car, I felt obliged to show him some love, forgiveness and compassion. I mean, he was a dog, and they are just NOT fussy about what goes in their mouth. It can be seen as both a pro and a con.
So I pat him, love him, let him lick my hand a bit...then I walk to my door, where "Ray" is standing to greet me. Or so I thought. Actually, in hindsight, I should have realised a 'welcome home' greeting isn't usually met with a horrified look and a crazy waving of the hands in a sort of "no no NO!!" gesture.
"Did you just touch the dog?!?" I'm asked as I approach my husband, my lips puckered and ready for a "honey I'm home" kiss just like they did on the TV in the 50's (I can dream...)
"Yes," I reply with a smile, then I re-pucker.
"Did he lick your hand?!?!" my husband asks me, a little more frantically this time. Seriously, jealous much?
"Yes..." I slowly reply as I soon realise that perhaps my new-found compassion toward my dog has just gotten me some sort of air-born disease. I had only 24 hours earlier seen him nearly devour a bird. Oh GOD, I thought. I knew it, he's done it again. But this time, he has EATEN the 5 year old across the road.
No, he hadn't. Slight overreaction on my part, I'll admit.
He'd eaten a whole rat.
Not much better, really.
"Ray" informs me - as I stare horrifyingly at my now clearly infected hand that I'm just going to have to self-amputate when I get inside - that Marley found, chased, caught, then crunch on and ate a rat in our backyard.
And now I probably have rat flu.
Marley: 3. Heidi: -5 (because I'm probably going to die, and that's worthy of a negative number)
So several hand washes and a severe scrubbing later, I was glaring at my seemingly feral dog, wondering why exactly he felt the need to eat the local wild life, and, in particular, the ones that could give me the plague. Do we not feed him enough? Or is the raw beef, chicken and turkey necks he gets each night giving him a taste for raw (still alive) flesh?!?! I don't know, but all I can say is that I think I may have a problem on my hands, which thanks to Marls, have never been so sanitised.
A quick side note: when I finally did get around to walking Marley, I couldn't help but notice him licking his lips as we passed a little old lady and her Chihuahua.
I'm unsure as to whether he was more focused on eating the Chihuahua...or the old lady. I'll keep you posted.
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