Copyright © Louise Bostock 2007-2013. Please give credit where credit is due.
Junk food doggie
Hot. Blue skies. In short, August at Lago Maggiore.
My dog has a cast iron stomach. He can, and will, eat anything. Bones, rubber gloves, balloons, plastic bags, used tea bags, cat food, chicken innards, wild boar testicles, many-days dead sparrows and so forth.
Recently he lay at Carmine's small beach methodically turning the rubber ball we had been playing with into not-so small pieces and ingesting them, to the horror of the onlookers. The Carmine Telegraph flashed up the hill, and by the time I got home, I was greeted by a kind and deeply worried neighbour who gave me chapter and verse on the symptoms and dangers of blocked digestive tracts in dogs.
But regardless what he eats, Jakob, Lord of Misrule, Master of the Compost Bin, and Scourge of Children's Parties, has remained Seigneur of the Stiff Stool.
Until now.
The last two days (and nights), my hairy eating machine has had diarrhoea in great juddering spasms at about three-hourly intervals. Poor thing.
The culprit?
A stolen portion of MacDonald's fries.
Junk food doggie
Hot. Blue skies. In short, August at Lago Maggiore.
My dog has a cast iron stomach. He can, and will, eat anything. Bones, rubber gloves, balloons, plastic bags, used tea bags, cat food, chicken innards, wild boar testicles, many-days dead sparrows and so forth.
Recently he lay at Carmine's small beach methodically turning the rubber ball we had been playing with into not-so small pieces and ingesting them, to the horror of the onlookers. The Carmine Telegraph flashed up the hill, and by the time I got home, I was greeted by a kind and deeply worried neighbour who gave me chapter and verse on the symptoms and dangers of blocked digestive tracts in dogs.
But regardless what he eats, Jakob, Lord of Misrule, Master of the Compost Bin, and Scourge of Children's Parties, has remained Seigneur of the Stiff Stool.
Until now.
The last two days (and nights), my hairy eating machine has had diarrhoea in great juddering spasms at about three-hourly intervals. Poor thing.
The culprit?
A stolen portion of MacDonald's fries.
3 comments:
Oh yes, and no snidey comments about MacDonald's, please. As I always say to myself as I sneak out MacDonald's back door, my hat pulled down, my collar turned up and a furtive brown bag in my hands: without fast food there can be no slow food.
I promise no snide comments but MacDonald's please, poor Jakob hope he recovers quickly.
I feel the same after eating McDs.
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