Friday, September 27, 2019

krunchy roll

This time of year the grass in most of our yard  is always in bad shape, dried out to a crisp if it exists at all, except for the parts that receive just enough sun and shade to eke out an existence. This time of year, tiny chumley usually shows no interest in eating grass. But there he was, standing by the door after eating his lunch, swallowing and hiccing with enough frequency to suggest that our time outside was not going to be for making a new donation to his poopie snake museum.

I carried him to the front yard, reluctant to let him eat our recently pellet fertilized lawn but hopeful that if he ate enough, he would hack it back up while we were still outside and all would be well again. That was the deal I made in my head as I put him on the ground, where he immediately started grazing.  Minutes passed as we moved from one sparse grassy patch to another, with tiny chumley chomp chomp chomping at the grass, and me, swat swat swatting at the mosquitoes. “Okay, baby dog, you really need to throw up now,” I’d remind him.

The swallowing and hiccing had finally stopped, but his interest in chomping grass persisted.  I picked him up and accepted,  welcomed really, the likelihood of having to clean up a messy grassy kibble puddly yack ball. Probably on the carpet, of course, I thought to myself.  I pictured the mess in my head as I opened the door to go back inside.  Definitely oxy clean, maybe some enzyme stuff.  Ugh the smell! And he might just eat it again. 

Tiny chumley happily trundled about as the back door closed behind him. I gave him some leftover plain white rice, which he gleefully accepted as the even more delicious cherry on top of his already delicious crunchy grass sundae. I finished my lunch. We resumed working on doot listings. More time passed. Dinner, television, after dinner poopies, bedtime poopies, and still...nothing. 

I guess that’s it, then.  Another of life’s unsolved mysteries, punctuated by an intense contemplation of a little wolf’s digestive system.  And I wouldn’t have it any other way. :)


well, mom, i guess i ate all that grass because a wolf knows when his tummy is not feeling well and i just - uh-oh, hang on, i think i finally have to hurl ...



(hwarrrk... hwarrrk...kaaack!)



hee hee, okay i was just kidding.  i do not plan to throw up the grass at all really.  it was delicious. and, i cannot wait to see today’s poopie snakes, can u? :)






3 comments:

Anonymous said...

The Ferocious Wolf might need more fiber... Finely chopped steamed broccoli is the fiber that makes our little Chiweenie happy. A bit of crushed roasted cashews add that bit of pizazz which counterbalances the "yuck" factor of broccoli... Ferocious Wolves (Dachshunds) have a very refined palate.

Mh said...

Pepcid twice a day

Nat said...

oh the many mysteries of a dachshund. glad you’re ok B.