Do you remember how I said cows are made from steak, and shoes are made from cows (leather) and so are also basically steak? Eating the socks that go INSIDE the shoes that are like steak is probably pushing my theory a little far … as I found out the hard way.
Last week they didn’t even get mad. They got worried instead, which was worse because then I knew I’d really screwed up. When I stopped wanting to eat anything at all one morning, I was obviously going to die. I’m not being melodramatic. I’m a labrador. FOOD. That is all.
Where was the comfy place? I moved to the bed. I moved to the floor. I moved to the other floor. I drooled on that floor. I drooled on the mum’s foot. Then I gave up and stopped moving because my belly hurt so very badly. When I didn’t follow her out of the kitchen to try and sad doggy-face her into sharing the muesli love, she stopped and took a good look at me. Three minutes later she was trying to lift my 30 kilos into the car and saying bad words. I won’t teach you those bad words because dogs shouldn’t be caught speaking english let alone swearing. I did more drooling and thought about death.
In death, you could eat all the g-strings you want, and never have to poop them out like I did yesterday. It hurts.
In death, you could climb trees to chase birds even though you have four legs and they have wings.
In death, there would be exciting people coming and ringing the doorbell all the time, just to play games.
In death, you would get to drink the whole cappuccino instead of just being allowed to lick the foam from inside the coffee cup.
Death is one giant room of balls, meat and smelly shoes.
PUPPY’S DAILY TIP: CHEW SOCKS, BUT DON’T SWALLOW. SWALLOWING IS BAD.
But – life is where my little girl is, and I need to take good care of her. I can’t really do that if I get sick. So I tried really hard at the doggy hospital. They asked me to sleep there because they didn’t know what was wrong and needed to put medicine in my arm and take blood and pictures of my belly. I slept in a cage instead of L’s bed, which drove me crazy cos I could smell the other sick dogs next to me and I couldn’t get to them to tell them to get fixed. One of them was having insulin and I could smell when she needed more.
After a day I started to try some food and it went OK. They said I was getting better and I could go home the next night. And that I would probably kill myself at some point if I kept putting things into me that aren’t food.
So now I’m sworn off eating things that break my stomach. And the parents seem to have some new lock-down system for all the loose clothes that come off their bodies, in baskets with lids. Very frustrating.
Thankfully they haven’t found my rainy day stash in the back garden.