Random Esquire

I went to Petsmart yesterday and while browsing at the various supplements normal people buy for their normal pets, I found something called Deter, Coprophagia Treatment. As I have most recently become aware that our home is guarded by a fecalphiliac, this product seemed right in line with our needs. I debated. 60 count or 120 count? I went with the 120. Picked up grooming brush, went to check out. As I put things on the counter, the cashier grabbed the box of Deter and said, “Ohhh, you’ve got a bad one, huh?”  That’s right. She just announced to the store that Little Filthy indulges himself with his own leftovers. I paused and said, “Yeah…he’s…something else…” What was I supposed to say? Why, yes, my dog eats his own feces. I had vague recollections of my parents reminding me of their embarrassment when my kindergarten teacher told them that I didn’t know my address and did they care that I did not know where I lived?

Came home. Offered a pill to the monster and he ate it without question. Fool. No more Little Debbie Fecalcakes for you.

This brings me to my next issue with the monster. We have an unusually short coffee table. I don’t know why. I don’t ask why because I’m not in charge of the interior design of the loft. Boss does that. I had left the room for a short while and returned to watch The Deadliest Catch. (Have you seen this show? All about Crab fishing in Alaska. It’s good for my desk-ridden soul). I picked up my coffee mug from the coffee table and took a sip. Little Filthy jumped up on my lap and licked my face. His lick smelled. Like coffee. Combine this observation with my trip to Petsmart.

Not so cute now, is he?