Laundry To You, Food To Him

I happened upon a hilarious account of animal eating habits over at One Good Thing that reminded me of a similar incident we had with Stinky Pete. In true canine fashion, Stinky enjoys munching on soiled undergarments. He especially enjoys a good dirty sock, on occasion*. And as dog owners know, unless you have your eyes glued to your animals whereabouts, at all times, they're bound to get into something here and there. You just pray it won't end up being fatal. So, as the story goes, Stinky went outside to go potty and St. Pauly Boy just happened to accompany him**. Pete's routine for going #2 is to sniff out a good spot, squat, then use your hind legs as leverage to get the job done as quickly as possible. Basically this just means he stomps his back feet on a ground a few times, to help the poo come out. This particular time, he found his spot, popped a squat, but then encountered some technical difficulties. His hind legs didn't seem to be providing enough leverage, so while maintaining the squat position, he proceeded to slowly migrate across the yard, stomping his back feet all the while, stopping every so often for another big push, then proceeded on his potty-trail. Every time he stopped to maneuver a big push, the effort was made obvious by the fact that his ears were smashed down on the side of his skinny little head and his hind legs were shaking like he had ants in his pants. Only, he wasn't wearing any pants. St. Pauly Boy is observing that there's something not right about this particular potty break, so he goes to investigate. This is when he notices that what's coming out of Pete's arse has some shading to it that's not normally there. He looks a little closer, thinks to himself, "that looks a little like that pair of argyle socks that my wife wears sometimes.....wait, it could be....is it?...It IS the argyle socks my wife wears sometimes, well, used to wear, I guess, considering that one is about to come out of the dog's butt, I doubt she'll be wearing them anymore."...something like that.

So, without going into the gory details of having to pull a dirty black and gray argyle trouser sock out of a dog's butt, he was able to get the job done and Pete ran off like nothing ever happened.

Of course, the argyle sock account reminded me of another, sweeter smelling Pete story of the night he tryed to help me do laundry. As he was nosing through the basket of freshly dryed clothing, from what I assumed was him looking for a nice piece of clothing to fold, he happened upon a delightful little treat called a "dryer sheet". Before I could even flinch, the dryer sheet disappeared into Pete's mouth. I rebounded quick and made a valiant attempt to retrieve it by chasing him around the coffee table only to be defeated, as I watched him swallow, lick his chops, and make his move to go back for seconds. I put up a block and scolded him (yelled and whatnot). Realizing my defeat, I retreated to the sofa where I proceeded to give him the silent treatment, because if you can't beat him, pouting is the only remaining option. He slowly approached my pity-party, resting his head on my leg and looked up at me with his liquid brown puppy eyes, but I wouldn't let him win this battle. He can outrun the shit out of me but no one, and I mean no one, beats me at the pouting game. His final attempt to win back my heart was made when he climbed up the front of my legs, sat right down on my lap, and facing me with his puppy head, took a deep sorrowful sigh which drenched my face in dryer-fresh puppy breath.

And that was it. I put up the white flag***. He won. I lost. How could I possibly stay mad at that sad puppy face with that glorious dryer-fresh breath?

Needless to say, Pete is no longer allowed to assist us with household chores.

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*Occasion = any chance he gets.
**Allow me to clarify, St. Pauly Boy potties inside the house, Pete potties outside the house.
***If I weren't speaking metaphorically, I'm sure he would have attempted to eat the white flag.