Some Things You Shouldn't Have To Be Told Not To Lick

Ok, this probably sounds like the start to some weird porno blog but I swear it’s not.  I just can’t stop thinking about the news article I read the other day about a warning issued by a group of doctors in Japan.  A warning about the dangers of eyeball licking.

Eyeball. Licking.

Apparently, because there are so many nerve endings in the eye, this is supposed to be some sort of intense physically stimulating experience, almost erotic.

And I don’t mean to judge (at least I don’t like other people to know I’m judgmental!), but I think that’s a little bizarre. I know I have a weird thing about eyeballs but if Opie snuggled up really close to me, took me in his arms, and whispered “Baby, I wanna lick your eyeball.” I wouldn’t know whether to laugh or throw up. Or just run screaming from the room.

But I assure you, this would not be the prelude to a romantic encounter.

In any case, the thing that really throws me about this is that doctors in the Japan and now the US have issued a warning about it.  Not just because it’s dangerous and disgusting—it is! But also because there are alarming amount of people running around sticking their tongues in other people’s eyes…enough that they felt it was in the public’s best interest to issue a warning.

Which leads me to the same questions that I had when I heard about the cane toad licking problem sweeping the nation a few years ago.

1.       Who was the first person to actually try this?

2.       How did they get other people to join in?

I mean, just as I don’t understand who looks at this:

And says “Hmmmm, I wonder if that slimy stuff on his head will get me high?”

 I don’t understand who looks at this:

 

 And says “Hmmm, I bet sticking my tongue on that would feel good.”

But even allowing that some people are a little nuts and might be willing to try just about anything, how do you convince others that it’s awesome?  “Come on, let me lick your eye.  You’ll like it!” is peer pressure that just shouldn’t work on anyone.

So, any eyelickers out there?  I'm willing to hear your side!

A Fungus Among Us

Since poop and other disgusting things seem to be the theme of this week's Humor Me Blog Hop, thought I'd share my own ewww moments...

In any case,  here’s how my morning started.  Got up, made coffee, started watering the garden and noticed this in the front yard:

 

Gross, right?  I mean, it looks like dog puke.  But this is the 3^rd time I’ve found it in the front yard in 2 weeks…and I’m pretty sure I would have noticed a strange, sick dog wandering around the neighborhood.

Besides, it LOOKS like dog puke but it doesn’t clean up like dog puke.  And yes, as a matter of fact, I do consider myself a bit of an expert on cleaning up dog puke after the unfortunate Peek-A-Boo Decides To Sample Cat Litter incident of 2010.

But I digress.

I looked it up on the internet and guess what?

It’s a fungus, not at all harmful to plants or animals, commonly called Dog Vomit Fungus.

Dog Vomit Fungus.

GROSS.

You would think THAT would be the end of my fungus issues but noooo, then I went into the backyard and found a couple of mushrooms commonly called Stinky Penis Mushrooms.

And, no, I’m not making this up. They are also referred to as Stinkhorns but the Latin name for this thing is Phallus Impudicus of the Phallacae family. How do I know?  Because the first time we found them in the yard, Opie did a Google search on them and gleefully reported the common name to me.

On a disturbing and slightly related note, when he told me this, I thought he was kidding. So I rushed in and did a search of my own…only I was in such a hurry that I just typed Stinky Penis.

I would advise against this course of action as I didn't even open any of the links but  am still emotionally scarred from the descriptions.  And I'm pretty sure I’m now on a number of government watch lists.

In any case, here they are:

 

Anyway, the 2 worst things about Stinky Penis Mushrooms--other than their disturbing appearance--are:

1.      They STINK.  I kid you not, one of these mushrooms popped up near a pile of actual dog poo and there were more flies on the mushroom. 

2.      Getting rid of them means digging down into the ground and getting the “egg spore.”  You also need to look around and dig up any other egg spores so they don’t spread…and the egg spores actually look like eggs and when you dig them up, they pop open like some foul jack-in-the-box, oozing chunks of baby mushroom.
 

So, that's my morning...and I haven't even medicated the cat yet....thinking I might just go back to bed. 

 

 

 

The Week of Peek - The Final Chapter

I'm way overdue for the final "Week of Peek" post and yet I can't bring myself to write it.  I have dozens of other stories to choose from but I can't...I guess that seems to much like really letting go, really saying goodbye.

I know some of you think "Get over it, it's just a dog."  But to me he was so much more than that...and he always will be.  So, I think instead of trying to put all that in words, I'll just end with a few of my favorite pictures:

Meeting the Prince for the first time....

 

And teaching him to scrounge for crumbs...

 

as Santa Paws

 

Hanging with the Bub...

 

The day we said goodbye.

 

 

A Dog Of His Own -- The Week of Peek Part 6

This is the message I sent out back when Opie and I first started getting serious and we introduced all the animals...

 

This is Peek's "You Want Me To Do WHAT?"face

 

Well, I thought I should let everyone know that Opie and I finally crossed that ever important first hurdle this weekend—the meeting of the pets.

Yes, you read that right.

Pets.

Not parents.  Not friends.  Pets.

Because, let’s be honest, if his 50 pound Rottweiler mix can’t get along with my two bundles of crazy, there’s probably no sense pursuing this relationship any further....ok, kidding, but it would make things more difficult--because I think we all know I'm not getting rid of MY babies.

The problem with the meeting was, of course, the simple fact about that my pets are clearly confused about their place in the universe.

Peek-A-Boo, for example, is completely unaware of the fact that he’s a dog.  He’s pretty sure that he’s just a fat little man trapped in a fur suit.

And while he’s certainly open to having a dog of his own, he clearly thought it was important to establish the following guidelines:

1.      No dogs on the furniture.  Which meant that although Peek had his fat little body splayed out on the couch with reckless abandon, the instant Bub so much as put a single toenail on the edge of a cushion, Peek sprang to vicious life—barking and growling and charging until he scared Bub off.

 

2.      No feeding people food to dogs—no matter what.  Which meant that if someone inadvertently dropped a crumb on the floor—heck if someone looked like they were thinking about dropping something that might be food on the floor,  Peek charged across the room, knocked Bubba out of the way, and heroically gobbled it up himself—all in the interest of keeping the dogs of the house human food free.

 I like to think it was this same heroic spirit that made him jump in front of Bubba and bury his face in Bubba’s food dish.  It’s not that he’s a food aggressive little pig of a dog, he was diligently making sure that there was nothing in Bubba’s bowl that could be misconstrued as people food.

3.      No playing dominance games with the dogs.  According the Dog Whisperer,  a person (even one trapped in a fur suit), should never play dominance games like tug-of-war with his dog.  Apparently, this can teach your dog that it’s ok to challenge your authority.  And while Peek has obviously been watching the Dog Whisperer behind my back, Bubba just has obviously has not. Because that poor dog was desperate to prove his dominance in a tug of war battle with pretty much any toy in the house.

Which honestly, is either really mean or really dumb of Bub because he weighs SEVEN TIMES what Peek weighs. Plus Peek is old and doesn’t have a lot of teeth…a tug of war battle would have ended with him being launched across the room like a rocket dog. 

A fact not lost on Peek AT ALL.  Bubba would come over, tail wagging, toy rope or duck or what have you in his mouth, nudge Peek with it a few times and Peek would just sit there staring at him like he was out of his tiny doggy mind.  “I don’t play dominance games with MY DOG,” he would say.  

He would, occasionally, bark hysterically at Bubba and chase him across the room until he dropped the toy in question—so he could steal the toy and pretend like it had been his all along--and then hide with it behind the couch where Bubba couldn't reach him.  But he would NOT play tug of war.

 The Dog Whisperer said not to.

I'm not going to lie, it was a little embarrassing.

And the cat, of course, made it even worse.

               He, too, seems unaware of his true species.   He clearly thinks he’s a dog…but a dog of questionable moral character.

               See, the cat, unfortunately, is a liar.

               The thing is, when 2 dogs meet for the first time, there is a little struggle to see which one is dominant.  The submissive one frequently drops onto his back and shows his belly, demonstrating his submissive nature.  So, upon meeting Bubba, the cat took a few cheerful swipes at his head, then dropped to the floor and showed his belly.

               But, as I mentioned, the cat is a liar.

               He was not showing his belly as an act of submission but to lull Bubba into a false sense of security.  Because the second that Bubba would scamper over, thinking he was in charge, and put his nose down on Prince’s belly, Prince would smack Bubba in the face.

               Which would have been bad enough if Prince had done it once…but he did it about 16 times.  And Bubba fell for it EVERY SINGLE TIME.

Seriously, I think Opie’s just happy that I didn’t bring children to this relationship!

Can't you just tell this cat is plotting SOMETHING?

A Guard Dog He Was Not -- The Week of Peek Part 5

This is the story of the night Peek proved he's really not much of a guard dog...

Seriously, who wouldn't fear this dog?  He was 7 pounds of fur-covered steel!

  

So how’s this for drama? Last night I was in bed, reading, about to drift off to sleep when I heard the unmistakable sound of a door opening downstairs.

          Which I would have chalked off to imagination except my ridiculous animal jumped from the bed in the same instant and flew downstairs in a barking frenzy.

          In any case, I freaked out a little…after all, why would my doors be opening at 1:00 in the morning, particularly when I am POSITIVE I locked them before retiring to my room for the night?

          But ever the intrepid homeowner, I snuck to the stairs and yelled “Hello!”

          Which, in retrospect is kind of stupid. What kind of moron actually welcomes the crazed rapist into her home?

          Anyway, after I yelled, I heard more movement, more hysterical barking, and pondered what to do…I thought I would feel silly calling 911, I mean what if there was no one there? Then what? However, I quickly decided I would rather feel silly than feel dead so I made the call.

          You should all take a minute and feel a little twinge of pity for the 911 operator who had to deal with me. She was trying to calm me down and give me instructions, like to lock myself in my bedroom, and I was crying and telling her I had to go downstairs and get my dog.

          “I’m sure your dog will be fine,” she said. “Dogs can take care of themselves.”

           Which, honestly, just proved she had never met my dog.

          “My dog is a Chihuahua!” I yelled. “He’s a fat little Chihuahua that couldn’t fight his way out of a paper bag!”  Then I began screaming his name in a style reminiscent of Stanley screaming for Stella in A Streetcar Named Desire.

          I’m sure that was lovely for the 911 operator.

          I’m sure she was also somewhat convinced that there was something seriously wrong with me because, again, my dog’s name is Peek-A-Boo.

          “Peek-A-Boo!”  I was yelling.  “Peek-A-Boo!”  Like I was trying to get the intruder to play toddler games with me.

          However, the operator stayed calm and managed to convince me that my family would not be pleased if I got myself killed running downstairs to check on my dog (and she’s right, while my folks would obviously be upset to lose me in any circumstance, meeting my demise my life in some unnecessary but some daring doggie rescue would add eight kinds of irritation to their grief.)
 

          But my attachment to this ridiculous animal goes somewhat beyond the normal, healthy range so I couldn’t abandon him, especially since I could still hear him running around and barking right in front of the door I'd heard opening. So I started sneaking down the stairs as quietly as I could.  And then I heard the door again, swinging shut this time.  I grabbed Peek and ran back upstairs, freaking out even more.

          And even though the police arrived moments later, I was already well on my way to hyperventilating and having a complete panic attack.  Meanwhile, the police searched the outside of the house, then tried to come in to look around and make sure no one was inside

          At which point Peek his true concern: No one, he insisted, was crossing the threshold of this house until he got his belly rubbed--preferably while being fed dog treats.  He jumped out of my arms, flung himself on the floor in front of the officers, rolled over and yipped at them over and over until one actually caved and petted him.

          And then the officer said “Really more of an ‘alarm dog’ than a guard dog, huh?”

          It was embarrassing.

          I mean, I don’t expect this animal to really go into attack mode or anything but I had just risked my own life to save him so couldn’t he at least pretend to care that strangers were meandering all over our home???

 

Peek Freaks -- The Week of Peek Part 4

         In case any of you thought that I was the only one who Peek-A-Boo tormented with his willful ways, here's a little story about the week my parents watched him.

 

Peek hiding in the closet, not out of fear but mainly to torment my parents.

 

 

 

 After a week of wandering around the Canadian wilderness with pre-teen children who consider farting the be-all, end-all in humor, I’m writing to appeal to you all for sympathy.

Not for myself, mind, but for the two people who really deserve sympathy concerning this whole experience.

          My parents.

          Now, I can hear some of you saying to yourselves, “Selves,” you are saying.  “I didn’t know Kimberly’s parents went to Canada with her.”

          They didn’t.

          They had the dubious honor of caring for my dog while I was gone, the infamous Peek-A-Boo.

          Pity my parents

          Pity Peek-A-Boo.

          Pity the poor neighbors who I suspect were constantly offered a slightly used long haired Chihuahua.

          You see, there is this little thing called separation anxiety that affects dogs when they feel they have been abandoned by their owners.  And this trip, yep, that just about did it for the Peekster.

          To be perfectly precise about it, Peek freaked.

          He started with his usual expression of doggy displeasure.  He chewed the used/dirty paper in his litter box and scattered the contents around the kitchen. This is what he does when he’s mad at me and I guess he thought my parents would quickly get the message.

          I don’t think he planned on my father stepping on a huge piece of Peek-A-Boo poo as he walked in the door.

          I’m glad I wasn’t there to witness this; I’m sure it wasn’t pretty.

          But did this deter my dog?

          Not even a little bit.

          In fact, after this ploy failed to get him the appropriate (in his mind) attention, he decided to up the ante.  He decided that pottying in the litter box wasn’t emotionally satisfying anymore.  He had some serious abandonment issues that needed to be addressed, he wanted to make sure the whole family was aware that he was unhappy.  So he began sneaking over to the sink in the middle of the night and peeing right in front of it.

          Picture my father shuffling (barefoot) over to the coffee pot first thing in the morning, sliding through a puddle of Peek-A-Boo pee.

          My dog is lucky to be alive.

          And let’s not even talk about the chewing…let’s not mention the silk plant, the two wicker baskets and the numerous shoes etc that Peek decided to sample in his quest for the best chew toy. Let’s just say when I got there to pick him up, the kitchen was this barren, desolate wasteland with nothing but the table and Peek’s crate.  Everything else had been removed after Peek decided to gnaw off a hunk or two.

          And then there were the fun hiding episodes in which he wriggled his fat little body around the accordion door and snuck to the back of the closet and stayed there snuggled in a bunch of shoes, chewing away, until my parents had searched the whole house in a desperate attempt to find him.

          Then, the day before I got home, Peek got out.  He escaped, he ran away and began tearing around the neighborhood, looking for me.  My mom was frantic; I had talked to her the day before and she had mentioned how terrible the dog was behaving.  I think she thought that I would be convinced one of them had finally snapped and killed him.  So everyone take a moment and picture my poor mother running through the neighborhood, dashing up and down the golf course screaming “Peek-A-Boo!  Peek-A-Boo!” at the top of her lungs.

          What the neighbors thought of this display is frightening to contemplate.

          NOTE:  Mom would like to interject that she now believes Peek-A-Boo is the stupidest name she has ever heard.  I told her it could have been worse, I could have named him Help.

          It’s amazing how a week with one slightly neurotic dog can really take the edge of your sense of humor.