My daughter’s Destination Imagination (DI) team has been having extra practices at my house on Saturday mornings. Since this is something she does with her dad, I make sure I leave the house before the chaos starts. So last Saturday I came home after I knew everyone was gone, and I found the dog in the middle of the kitchen floor, eating something.
It was round, and it was black. It had the texture of particle board made out of hamster shavings. And the dog had eaten a good chunk of it.
My first thought was that it was a prop for DI and I was going to have to haul the dog to the vet to get wood and paint pumped out. (Don’t think I’m kidding. This pooch once ate a 6 pack of Poptarts. Box, wrappers and all.)
So I called my husband to find out what this thing was, knowing he would be upset a prop was gone.
He laughed when I asked him what the black circle thing on the floor was.
“I left it to show you.”
What? Left it to show me what?
Apparently he had put pizza in the oven for the kids to eat, and one of the mothers showed up with Little Caesar’s pizza. And the one in the oven kept cooking. For an hour. So he pulled it out and left it on the table for me to see.
At which point the dog, unable to resist, got up on the table to retrieve the tasty (?) appetizing (?) morsel. (This is the same dog who climbed onto the dining room table one Thanksgiving to eat the whole stick of butter).
Sure enough, I could see where the dog had picked the burnt pepperoni off the rest of the burnt pizza.
I ordered the dog not to be sick on my carpets or furniture and vacuumed all the burnt bits off the floor.
There is no accounting for taste. Or dogs. Or dog’s tastes. But what can you expect from a creature that rolls in excrement?
And people wonder why I prefer cats?