The Dog's Second Worst Day Ever
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Mood: Surprisingly cheery. Super Cheery.
Number Dead: Dare I?
Bullets Remaining: 97, I know. There's one I haven't told you about.
Following excerpt is a "from the vault" especial. This is about two years ago when the count and I were dating. It is a warm summer afternoon when the actors enter the room. The summer has been moist and fraught with the battle of the bugs, ticks, etc.
So, here we are petting the dog. I am rubbing under his neck and on his stomach. It's business as usual. I feel a lump. It's black. Not pumped. We've been battling ticks and fleas all summer because of the rain. We hadn't seen the sun for more than one day, much unlike the recent desert-like weather...
When it started to rain three days ago, my first thought when a drop hit my shoulder was that a bird had shit on me, rather than the possibility of rain. What f'ed up world do I live in where bird poop is more probable than precipitation? Moving this story right along...
I call The Count into the room. Backup is most definitely needed.
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Animal lovers around the world know, if you are going to pull a tick out, as opposed to burning it out, or "smoking it out of its hole," to use a Bushism, you are going to have to put some gusto into the tugging.
So The Count is yanking while I hold the dog, trying to pull the body apart from the head of this tick. We both keep looking at the dog, who is sitting as placid as a cow, waiting for him to squirm or panic. But not our dog, cool as a cucumber.
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We lean in closer to get a look at the mut and his tick. The count touches it with his finger-gag. Gag again for posterity's sake. Eew. The Count and I have to have a thinking moment and then, slower than "special" kids doing Geometry, the light bulb comes on.
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Worse, it's a mole on a nipple.
Better than discovering that the three-headed dog was protecting the Sorcerer's Stone, the Count and I discovered that the reason why the dog wasn't squirmy or pissed is because this whole time we were gently pinching and tugging on his nipple. Fuck. Squeaker 1. The Count and Myself, 0.
3 Comments:
But what, dear friend, was Squeaker's #1 Worst Day Ever?
I'm actually wanting to know the same thing.
I guess you'll just have to wait and see, now won't you? Buwahahaha!
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