On Thursday night, for dinner, I had a couple of ears of sweet corn. Not specifically due to poorness, but due to the overwhelming deliciousness of corn this time of year. The dog, with all of the instincts of his tiny spotted wolf ancestors, has figured out when I think something is particularly delicious and he will fixate on this item.
At some point on Thursday night, when my back was turned, he ate a corn cob.
He is officially Too Stupid To Live.
Why, you ask? Because corn cobs do not digest. This means that my wonderful dog has been vomiting cob for the last three days. Vomiting cob, and then trying to eat it again.
Dogs have a pact with one another. Several pacts, in fact. If they are ill, they will struggle valiantly to keep it concealed during daylight and evening hours, waiting for the moment when you have just entered the deepest sleep of the night, and that is when they will begin to make the horking sound that will snap any pet owner awake in a panic, trying to locate said retching animal in the dark. The second pact is that a dog is never allowed to sully the same area twice. Should he be violently ill, and throw up twice in a row, it is of the utmost importance that he start in one area and finish in another, sometimes as if propelled on a little treadmill, like he’s a vomit-powered rocket.
My dog is an asshole. When he dies (which may be soon), I’m going to have him stuffed in an extra humiliating position to serve as a warning to the next ten generations of dogs.
