This photo should warn you that it's my turn to tell the Harbor Dog Story this month.
This month I wrote some short stories about all the really weird things my dogs have eaten over the years. I also include some pretty boring things they've eaten and try to spice it up with writing flair and funny photos. They are definitely worth your time to read. Or maybe they're not if you're woozy from burning military waste in hastily-dug trenches outside of New Rabies, Wisconsin.
Here’s an excerpt:
WEIRD EATIN’ #2 — THE BUFFET
Hey! This is the SECOND time I lied to you in one blog! I DID write this story previously. But THIS time I’m going to tell it like it should be told– with a lot of cerebral swearing and dark, explicit, sexual switchbacks.
One fine spring night, a pack of coyotes brought down a rather large deer in the woods just outside our front lawn. It was about 30ft from our living room. The carcass became a nexus that attracted all kinds of scavengers and disease-laden wildlife. Every night they would fight over the corpse very aggressively and loudly.
Not only that, but the engorged ticks dropped off the carcass and reproduced 1,000-fold. It was like a Nuclear Tick Bomb went off. The fallout of tiny tick babies marched their way up to our house in a huge swarm looking to attach themselves to our private parts and eyelids.
When Liana and I watched TV, we could hear the howls of the alpha scavengers declaring ownership of the carcass. Then there were the snarling and fights between the challengers and the alpha scavengers for the trophy carcass. In rare times of quiet, the gnawing and crunching of bones was enormously distracting. We could hear this cacophony even after closing the windows to keep the stink out.
When we just wanted to watch TV, I would fire shots over the coyote’s heads to scatter them. Yes. We live in Maine. Yes. I own a shotgun. No. I am not a gun nut. I own a shotgun JUST for this type of eventuality. I would have to fire shots over the coyotes’ heads just so Liana and I could watch Dumb & Dumber for the 10,000th time in peace. Don’t laugh. That’s our favorite movie and we never miss an edited network re-playing of it.
The shotgun also came in handy when we let the dogs out for their morning pee-pees and poopies before breakfast. They would all run straight down to the carcass like it was free beer at a NASCAR event, and I’d clear out the vermin and any remaining scavengers from the carcass with a couple quick shots into the air.
I can just sense a lot of you city dwellers out there asking, “Why didn’t you just run down to the carcass banging a metal pot with a heavy spoon to scare the wildlife away?”
The answer is that the shotgun was way quicker and easier. And I could shoot the rounds off from the deck completely naked whilst simultaneously taking a whizz rather than run naked and peeing across my lawn like some kind of nutjob invoking a half-baked Native American Spirit.
I can never forget 14yr old Buddy wobbling desperately down to the carcass in his painful, arthritic gait as fast as he could. It was the only time I remember my dogs not caring about breakfast. I’d have to physically bring them back from the stink-pile to the house. Half of them were deaf and couldn’t hear my screaming to come back and the other half were just disobedient. The were all covered in ticks.
They stank of rotten deer and eventually they started getting sick. Liana and I started getting sick when the dogs began rolling in it. I also got tired of spending my life’s savings on shotgun shells just so Big Dumb Buddy could go outside and pee 600 times a day.
So I put an end to The Buffet about a month later when I saw a coyote in the woods eying Buddy like a veal calf. I put a military surplus gas mask on and wrapped the carcass in a tarp. I tossed the whole disgusting mess across the road onto the neighbor’s property like any honorable neighbor would. I forget what crime the neighbors had committed against us, but trust me, I could find one.
Then all I had to do was prevent my dogs from crossing the hyper-fast road out front to rediscover The Rotting Buffet on the neighbor’s property.
That was a hoot.
So get yourself a cup of hot chocolate or a tumbler overflowing with thick, syrupy Grappa and click here for the rest of "Weird Eatin's" -by Don.
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