On our walk the other morning, as Olive and I come to a quiet four-way intersection, a man rolls down the window of his car. Olive and I expect either one of two possibilities. We’ll either be asked for directions to a location about four blocks away or he’ll say something like “Beautiful dog.” It was neither. What he did say was this: “Hey, I’ll buy your dog from you.” It was a statement delivered in the form of a question. “Fat chance,” I reply with an unspoken acknowledgement of his back-handed compliment of Olive. “I just sold a litter last week,” he continues. I wonder what kind of response he’s expecting from me now. Finally, he’s basically pushed into the intersection by the car behind him and slowly chugs along his way. Olive and I cross the street and finish the last leg of our walk. It doesn’t occur to me until the next day that what the guy in the car was really suggesting was that he buy Olive to breed her so he can sell more litters. So, does that whole strange exchange mean he was propositioning Olive through me, her supposed pimp? I think I have to go take a shower now. “OLIVE? YOU’RE NEXT!”
Archive for February 4th, 2012|Daily archive page
Olive Gets Propositioned
In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 02/04/2012 at 11:40 amThe Lamb of Dog
In dogs, humor, lifestyle, pets, weimaraners, writing on 02/04/2012 at 11:03 amThe other evening, as I was bending down headfirst in Olive’s dog food container, scooping the little brown kibbles into her bowl, it hit me like a runaway freight train. The odor of lamb was so pungent, it finally ignited the circuitry in my brain. In an instant, I flashed back to that moment when I asked myself, “Why does my dog always smell like day-old lambchop?” DING! DING! DING! DING! BINGO!” This is why my dog smells like day-old lampchop. Because she eats lamb everyday. I guess she must secrete it through her pores. Sort of how a friend of mine always smells like a walking, stinking clove of garlic. Because she eats so much of it, it has to escape from her body sub-cutaneously. Her pores await the tsunami of garlic that rushes toward them, using these microscopic portholes as escape hatches. I guess the same thing happens to Olive. Maybe she’s eating too much lamb. Maybe she’s turning into a lamb? I wonder what she’d do if she came nose to nose with a real, live one? Thank God I don’t feed her groundhogs. I don’t know what they smell like, but it can’t be good. Too bad chocolate is harmful to dogs. I wouldn’t mind if Olive walked around the house smelling like a chocolate Easter Bunny.