A Yard of This, A Yard of That…!

Warning:  the first few paragraphs are rated TS for the turd sensitive:

Dearly Beloved and Miss Piggy still haven’t kissed and made up.   Well, the kissing part definitely isn’t going to happen because The Issue— Miss Piggy’s taste for tootsie turds–has not abated.    We must stand outside with her during her “last call”  before bedtime to watch that it’s all output and no intake.  Otherwise, we run the risk of having her hide something disgusting in her cheeks again to bring inside for a late-night snack.

DB has now refers to her as “The Little S— Eater.”   Miss Piggy is unrepentant.   That dog has no shame.

I’m not talking a mere Daily Double; it’s closer to Daily Double Digits.  When we take her on her twice-daily walks, we carry bagS.  There aren’t wimpy dumps.  A Great Dane would be proud of our fat little cocker’s piles.

The pricey,  prescription-only,  high-fiber, weight-control dog food we feed her (Hill’s WD) is the gift that keeps on giving.  DB says he’s not sure how to count her movements.  If she poops, eats it, then poops again,  does that count as one or two? At what point does it become poop neutral in the count?  We need to be accurate if we’re going for a mention in Ripley’s.

I now return you to our regular G-rated programming:

This week it’s springtime, but only a week or so ago we had snow in NC.  One day it snowed for almost 24 hours, but since the temperature hovered at 34 degrees, there was no accumulation when I went out with her at bedtime.

The next morning I looked out the sunroom window and our yard was still bare.  When I stood at the kitchen sink filling the teakettle a few minutes later, though, I saw a covering of snow on our neighbor’s back yard.

The yard on our left glistened with a thin layer of white, too.  Weird.

I looked out the sunroom window again.   Nothing except muddy green, but beyond the big magnolia tree, our back neighbors’ property glistened through the chain-link fence.  Take a look at the picture I took from the sunroom window.  That’s not a pond back there, that’s their yard.  Their snow-covered yard.

You know what they say about the grass being greener on the other side of the fence?  That’s us!   WE are the sunny side of the fence!

Oh, the headiness of realizing our house is the center of the universe!

Reality check:  Maybe it’s because dog poop is a heat conductor.

(sigh) Hand me that snow shovel.

It won’t be snow I’m shoveling.

The Muncher

8 thoughts on “A Yard of This, A Yard of That…!

  1. I have to say that I’m lucky with Boo…..infact he is so picky about what passes by his lips that he will not eat meat…..not even filet mignon!!…..on occasion he’ll eat a McDonalds double cheeseburger….No ketchup…no pickles…and his milk bone cookies….he takes them like he’s a Pez dispenser….he barely opens his mouth…and all this from a 135 pound dog….He thinks we are trying to poison him…..And we also have the same weird snow patterns down here….when it snowed last week we had 6 inches on the front lawn and on the side lawn…..nothing…..go figure.

  2. When I saw the “grass is greener” part of your post I immediately thought about the contribution your sweet little shit-eater has made! Looks like you, me and TTPT were all on the same wavelength!

  3. Oh my–aren’t we something, obsessing over our dogs’ — er — habits.
    I read an account of the race to the Sout Pole, wherein Amundsen (the gloomy Norwegian) and Scott (the intrepid Englishman) raced to see who would get there first. Dumb Scott took ponies to the South Pole (!) and found them unsuitable.
    Smart Amundsen took dogs–he took twice as many as needed, planning to kill half along the way to eat. He also built the housing quarters for the men with him in such a way that the solid waste would go into a reservoir of sorts from which the dogs would eat. I kid you not. He knew their proclivities.
    Here’s the end of the story–Scott made it to the pole, only to find Amundsen had beat him there.
    Amundsen came back alive; Scott and his entire party died on the way back.
    So, here’s to shit eating dogs–they help you survive.
    You were wondering whether there was a moral to this comment or not!

  4. If it is any consolation, the expression “Sh** eating dog” as an insult, would not have become part of our slang if she were unusual. She must have lovely breath.
    My dog leaves his and his species alone but will kill for a good cat crap. Only a baby gate blocking the litter box keeps his breath fresh. Good luck.
    Super wierd about the snow.

  5. It wouldn’t be a good story if it didn’t touch so many people suffering the same crazy things because we LOVE dogs (and all that they do?…well not quite.)

    Thanks for posting every day. You are funny and insightful and honest (and seemingly never out of material) and I look forward to reading your posts if only to see what kooky thing you are thinking about that day! Oh dear, poop scooping- the rite of passage into spring. I refused to look out over my back deck. Ewwwww.

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