My dog is a goat, and other discoveries

Spending time in the hospital plays havoc on one's ability to sleep soundly. It makes sense, really - a few weeks of someone tiptoeing into your room in the dead of night, putting unknown substances into a tube in your arm, with you to jerk awake when the cold hits your vein...Needless to say, I jump awake at the slightest noise.



About a year ago, I sent away for a box of Nascar-approved foam earplugs. You pinch them until they fit into the narrow of your ear, and they expand, creating a lovely, pillowy buffer between you and the outside world.



The trouble? Truman really, really likes these earplugs. Especially if they're recently used.



I came home from work one day, and made the discovery: Trumie had gotten onto my bed, leaned over onto my bookshelf, and helped himself to not one of the cellophane-wrapped packages of two earplugs, but six packages. Wrappers were strewn across my room.



"TrumieRoomieRoom! What are you doing! Where did you hide Mommie's earplugs?"



I looked under the bed. I looked under the dresser. I looked in every conceivable hiding place that a dog with 3 inch legs might use.



Realization dawned.



Then fear. Truman weighs eight pounds. He's a tiny little man. Twelve foam earplugs could go a long way toward stopping up the little guy.



My dog's stomach, it turns out, is really a goat's stomach. For the next two days, his poopie was surprisingly weightless, consisting of little more than brown-covered earplugs, completely intact earplugs mind you, attached end-to-end by his digestive matter.



This is not the grossest culinary treat he partakes of, I am sorry to say. He doesn't go so far as to engage in coprophagia (it means "eating one's own feces." "Coprophagia" sounds neater). He does enjoy the Kitty Roca, however.


I scoop. And I scoop, and I scoop. But my scooper is not as quick as my cats' poopers, and Truman is on the scent! I see him raise his nose, sniff, and sneak off toward the litter box. I race after him. "Truuuuumie!" I catch up to him, of course, but not before he's got a mouthful, and face it, who is going to wrestle that out of a dog's mouth?



My coworkers told me about some pills that you can feed your cat to make it's poo not taste so good.



There's just really nothing to say about that, is there?