Sunday, January 31, 2010
My apologies, in advance, for this entry.
Kevin, our new pup has begun to exhibit signs of coprophagia. I personally think it should be called crapophagia.. or perhaps crapomania.
If you haven't yet figured it out, coprophagia is "the consumption of feces"... or poop. Coprophagia is very common among elephants, pandas, koalas and hippos. Gorillas and chimps also find poop palletizing.
But Kevin? Please, not my sweet, face-licking Kevin.
Apparently coprophagia is a behavior commonly observed in dogs. I first suspected Kevin's coprophagia when he was carrying what I thought was a stick in his mouth on a walk. He seemed more passionate about this particular stick compared to the thousands of other sticks he carries around. When I started to remove it from his mouth, well let's just say it was obvious that it was not a stick.
We immediately gave Kevin a bath after that walk (right after I vommited and took a shower myself). We brushed and flossed his little razor teeth and helped him gargle with Listerine.
I assumed it was on one time thing. You know, like a curious teenager experimenting with alcohol.
Last night Kevin woke me up to go outside in the middle of the night. I typically keep my eyes open just a fraction of a centimeter on these mid-night potty trips so I can quickly fall back asleep. (Sometimes I don't even remember making the trip outside.) I remember last night's nightmare. When I squinted down to see if Kevin was finished, to my horror I realized that he was in the middle of a midnight snack.
So much for my 40-winks.
We may need to get professional help. Does anyone know if there's local chapter of Coprophagia Anonymous?
"My name is Kevin. I like to eat poop."
Sunday, January 24, 2010
I've always wanted to collect something...something unusual...something cool.
I considered collecting stamps. There are certainly rare stamps to be found. But is stamp collecting cool? I think not. The same goes for coins and Beanie Babies.
If you google "unusual collections", you'll see navel fluff and air sickness bags. I propose to you that although collecting these items may be unusual, the items themselves are not. In fact, you can find navel fluff in most any navel and air sickness bags on any airplane. But is navel stuff cool? What about air sickness bags? I think not.
(Note that if I were looking for something gross to collect, the navel fluff and air sickness bags would definitely qualify for consideration -- especially if the air sickness bags had been used.) But I wasn't looking for gross. I wanted to collect something unusual...something cool.
And that's why I collect Toothpick Holders. But not your run-of-the-mill Toothpick Holders.
I collect Mexican Toothpick Holders. But not your run-of-the-mill Mexican Toothpick Holders.
I collect Passed Out on His Face Mexican Toothpick Holders. But not your run-of-the-mill Passed Out on His Face Mexican toothpick holders.
I collect Passed Out on His Face with His Pants Down Mexican Toothpick Holders. And they are truly, very hard to find.
I found the first one in Costa Maya a couple years ago. I didn't intent to start a collection until I found another one in Cozumel the next year. "Shut the front door," I said to myself! "I've got a collection!"
I know just how rare these treasures are. I've been back to Mexico since and have gone to legions of souvenir shops in countless villages. I've unsuccessfully searched high and low for another Passed Out on His Face with His Pants Down Mexican Toothpick Holder to add to my collection. I even searched on E-Bay. No luck.
Even though my Toothpick Holder collection retailed for less than $5.00 (in aggregate), it has appreciated to an estimated value of over $5 million over the past 2 years (in my opinion). In fact, we've recently contracted with a vicious Pomerian soldier to guard the collection.
Please be advised, if you happen to find a Passed Out on His Face with His Pants Down Mexican Toothpick Holder, please pick one up for me. It's priceless.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
They attack out of nowhere. They are quick. They are aggressive. They are relentless. And they have plenty of backup.
They are far more clever than the Taliban. They are the I.M.M., more commonly known as the Israeli Mall Militia. Even more commonly known as the annoying hand lotion salespeople in the aisles of American malls.
The IMM use guerilla warfare on unsuspecting shoppers. They start by asking to see a shopper's hands. The next thing you know, the soldier is removing the shopper's nail polish and the interrogation begins.
"Do your nails always look this bad?"
"Don't you want your hands to look better than those of a rhinoceros?"
Before the shopper realizes it, she has handed over money for a tool resembling a miniature eraser that cost about a nickel to make and usually sells for $40. But, because the soldier "likes her:, he sells it to the victim for $29.99. (But he tells her not to tell anyone that he gave you the employee discount.)
It was raining today, so my friend Becca and I decided to walk at Columbiana Mall, a location with two known IMM camps. Having both been victims of this group, we were on orange alert. We knew if we could make it by one of their kiosks without making eye contact, we'd have a decent chance of survival. But that does not guarantee your freedom.
IMM's most recent tactic is to hold their product directly in front of your eyes as you are walking. If you are trying NOT to make eye contact (which we were), you could conceivably run right into the product. That happened twice today. When I noticed a missile heading for my face I ducked away just in time to hear an IMM soldier say, "Can I see your hands?"
We tried to divert them with the old "No hablo Ingles" line. But unfortunately, the IMM guerillas receive a discount from the Rosetta Stone kiosk and were quick to say "Yo habla Espanol!", followed by what must have been "Can I see hands" in Spanish.
I'm happy to say we survived the trip uninjured.
Albeit with dull fingernails on hands with very dry skin.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
We have a new arrival in my home- a Pomeranian puppy named Kevin. Cujo would be a more fitting name.
When we first brought him home he was shy, quiet, and affectionate. Fast forward 10 days and he has been transformed into a juvenile delinquent carrying about 14 razor sharp needles in his mouth ready to bite you if he doesn't get his way. He wears his pants down below his hips and I think he's started smoking cigarettes.
He doesn't bite my husband. About a week ago Kevin turned Cujo on my my husband. Dave shouted something like "No" or "BAD Dog" and slapped his mouth (to free his bloody hand). Kevin yelped and ran away. Now when he plays with Dave, the teeth stay in the mouth, and not in the flesh.
We enrolled Kevin in a puppy training class at PetSmart in an attempt to curb this delinquency. There are with 2 other puppies in his class. One is either a t-cup chihuaua or a large rodent, and the other is a boxer. Today was the first class with the other students and Kevin has already emerged as the troublemaker.
Kevin was placed in puppy detention because of his juvenile delinquency. It happened when Marcy, the instructor, began a little socializing exercise which she called 'butt meeting', which is, well, butts meeting.
Let's just say the Kevin did not want his butt to be met by the boxer's nose. Similarly, he did not want his nose met by the boxer's butt.
Kevin began snarling, and exposed those pearly white weapons. As a result of this aggression, Marcy placed him in a cradle hold - holding him tightly in her arms while she massaged his head, his paws and even his teeth.
(Note, when I put Kevin in the cradle hold, I don't put my hands anywhere near those teeth.)
Linda asked Marcy, "What do we do when he's biting us?" Marcy said to either blow on him or squirt him with a water gun. Linda said, "My dad hit Kevin and now Kevin doesn't bite him anymore."
Marcy looked at us in shock, took a deep breath and said, "That's because Kevin is afraid of your Dad."
Linda said, "No, he likes my Dad, He always sits on his lap and licks him."
Marcy lowered her voice and said, "He doesn't like your Dad. He's afraid of him. Battered children want attention from their fathers, too. That doesn't mean they like them."
Then she looked at me with pity, and I was half expecting her to slip me a number for PuppyCare, an emergency shelter for victims of domesticated animal violence.
So my new favorite accessory is a water bottle. It's really quite effective at getting Kevin to let go of my limbs. I have been very tempted to slap him when my wrist is locked in his jaw and the water bottle is across the room.
But I'm afraid if I do, there will be one of those 'wanted' posters hanging in PetSmart with my picture on it. Right next to Dave's.