My black dog, Lola, is a pig. When I found her, she was malnourished and near starving, and I don't believe she has ever gotten past that childhood trauma. Or maybe she is just a fatty at heart! In any case, my little Lola bear often resembles more of a pig and is constantly desperate for food.
Take for example this morning. I fed the dogs their breakfast, ate my breakfast and since I wasn't feeling all that hungry, I fed the dogs some of my eggs and toast. Then I let them outside by themselves while I brushed my teeth. I then head outside to let them out into our bigger side yard and my brown dog, Bella, is sitting on the back step looking at me and furiously wagging her tail. I know this look. This look says, 'Mom it wasn't me, I had no part in this. In fact, I begged her not to do it!'
So I call Lola. Nothing. Oh gosh, what is she into? I call her again, she bolts around the corner. Now, the fenced in back yard I had left them in for five minutes is not very large, maybe the size of the living room and the kitchen, so I don't see what could have taken her so long. Therefore, I peek around the corner. What I see and smell causes my stomach to turn and I emit some sort of startled "Bah!"-like sound.
What did I see which horrified me so? My compost bin, which has not been performing well lately. In fact, I had put off plans to build a new one last weekend because I was so busy, but the building of a new and improved compost bin was on my 'To Do' list. It was pretty high up on the list because it wasn't breaking down food and yard litter very well. And by 'very well' I mean, it was sort of a rotting pile of vegetables compounded by an over-saturation of water due to our recent rain. It was in a closed bin, but I guess Lola figured out how to open it because she had removed a great quantity of what I can best describe as sludge.
The smell was indescribable, but I will try. Take a smelly litter box, add in the salad you forgot about in the bottom of the fridge that one time and then top it off with some good old standing water- and you are close. It was funky, overpowering and nauseating.
I hurriedly put the lid back on it and usher the girls into the back yard to do their business, all the while verbally expressing my disappointment with Lola. At this point, I have class in twenty minutes. When they are finished I let them back inside, still verbally expressing my displeasure with Lola. She tucks her tail under her legs and jumps on my futon. And then I smell it. She smells like the compost pile.
I mean, of course she does, she was probably ass deep in the nasty pile of rotting refuse. She has gotten it on my futon, which is lucky because the futon is washable whereas had she jumped on the micro-suede couch, well you can imagine. I then realize, I cannot go to class without endangering everything I own. I have no way to quickly contain her, their kennel in somewhere in th garage because I never use it. It has suddenly gone from being class time to doggie shower time.
Needless to say, I am not thrilled with Lola, however as I bathe her I begin to feel less like I want to beat her and develop more of a sense of humor about the subject. A dog is a dog after all, and even a good dog sometimes like to roll in a rotting fish, chew up a calculator, or just eat a few feet of compost. To love someone is to embrace their faults, and I guess Lola is a pig, and I don't think she is gonna change.
And hey, now I have the morning off to catch up on homework. I love you Lola for the filthy animal you are.
