All Heart, No Brains

So, I’m sitting here last night, watching the dog throw up what, at first, appears to be a great amount of ground beef and I am in a bit of a panic wondering where he would have encountered what looked to be two cups of ground beef in the house considering I can’t remember the last time we had ground beef in said house.

He looks sheepishly at it and then at me like “You’re not going to make me eat this again, are you?”

Of course not. His job is to eat the cat barf, not his own barf. (Kidding!) So I go to clean it up and I notice that this is the least gross-smelling barf in the history of barf. It might even be said to have a slightly pleasant fruity smell, like summers when you were a kid or church basements at the end of Vacation Bible School.

Slow motion. I turn back toward the couch. All I’m thinking is “God damn it, I sang you the song!*” because I realize that is Kool-aid dyed wool. My heart is sinking. I am feeling the despondency of a thousand Lydia Deetzes. My afghan is ruined. Eaten by the dog.

But wait, no, there are all the squares, just where they should be after you go to the effort of making up an instructive song and then singing it all Sunday afternoon to the dog.

And my eye wanders down to the garbage can next to the couch where I sit and the end table upon which the squares sit. And I notice that many items appear to have been removed from said garbage can and the big wad of ends that had been there is now missing. Well, not missing. It’s just in the paper towel in my hand.

The poor dog is looking up at me like “Why, god, why did you not warn me not to eat that?”

And I’m sure I was looking back at him with a similar look on my face.

But thank the gods that it was just wool and Kool-aid. Except for being wildly uncomfortable coming back up as a giant soggy felted mess, it’s non-toxic. And what didn’t come up will pass through him okay.

(I should have known something was wrong, though, earlier in the evening when the Butcher left to go watch the Vandy game and Sonnyboy didn’t get up to do his ritual of sadness at having been abandoned by the best dude ever, ever, ever.)

 

*The song:

Rufus, you cannot eat my squares.

Rufus, you cannot eat my squares.

I took a vote when I was on the boat, coming from over there.

Rufus you cannot eat my squares.

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3 thoughts on “All Heart, No Brains

  1. My mom’s song to the dog:
    Hasten, Jason, bring the basin.
    Oops, too late!
    Now bring the mop.

  2. Why do these creatures we love insist on eating things that ARE NOT FOOD? Fat Cat’s current obsessions: Q-Tips, cotton balls, hair elastics, kitchen sponges. None of these things is remotely edible, or even appetizing. And yet.

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