Another one buddy”, Dad asked ask he scooped up another pile for this morning’s walk. Dad knew something was amiss with Mongo. Mongo is typically a digestive machine. Two cups of kibble every morning and night yield one bag of dog poop every morning and night. But here was Dad in the cold light of a winter’s dawn making multiple scoops.
For some reason Mongo was off schedule. The evidence was that Dad was on his third baggie of the morning. His first thought when Mongo hunched up the second time was that Mongo had one more piece to poop out, a Clingon if you will. That has not been the case. Instead of one more little turd, Mongo had made an entire second load. And when he finished the second load, he had started a third.
Dad pondered the situation and asked aloud, “I wonder what he ate?”
As summer has worn on, Mongo has gotten more and more hungry. He has taken to nibbling black berries right of the cane, despite the thorns, and he is continually searching for any low hanging tree fruit or fruit that has fallen on the ground. He has his favorite trees and bushes that he drags Dad over to, and then some that he only frequents if happens to pass close by them.
He likes green apples, red apples, pears, red raspberries, white raspberries, thimble berries, black berries, strawberries, blue berries, and peaches. With all this fruit, it was only a matter of time before he tried to create a vehicle to better enjoy the gifts of the summer. This week, he apparently decided to make a pie. However, as one of his predecessors, Hudson the Golden retriever found out, pie making without thumbs is more challenging than it might appear.
Mongo started with flour. Someone left the pantry door open again; a definite no-no around Mr. M. (See Mongo’s First Howl-o-ween for more info.) He got a hold of a five lb bag of flour, and carried it into Kimi’s room. There he opened it and created a huge sticky mess on the carpet, while managing to get most of it down. Mix all that flour with all that fruit, shake gently and Voila! Pie! Or in this case, just more dog “sick”…
And aside from having to clean up the flour paste, and the dog sick, they also had to clean up Mongo who managed to cover himself in flour paste also, right to the tip of his nose!
More white poop for Dad to scoop.
Dad checked the fridge, looking for eggs. There were 18 in there; way too many to use any time soon. So Dad decided to hard-boil 6 of them. He finished boiling them and then left them in the clear plastic container to cool on the counter top. Then he bolted out of the house for a meeting.
Later that day, Dad informed Mom-mom that there were some hard-boiled eggs in the fridge, available for breakfast or lunch tomorrow.
“Where?”, she asked.
“Right there in the clear egg carton”, “Dad answered confidently.
“You mean in here?”, replied Mom-mom holding up an empty clear egg six-pack. Read More…
It was blue. Even with his limited color-vision Dad could see that it was blue. What in the world could Mongo have eaten that would turn his poop blue Dad wondered. Perhaps Mongo was just experiencing an acute case of post-holiday let down, which could make one feel very blue… “But,” dad continued in his head, “was it possible for post-holiday blues go far enough to turn poop blue?”
Dad finished scooping up the backyard, and headed back into the house. Suddenly, a flash of blue caught his eye. It was a piece of blue chopped rag insulation from a soft cooler.
“Aww!” Dad said to Kimi. “I was going to use that to carry our salmon back from Alaska.” Dad looked crushed. “And now he’s eaten our cooler!”
In essence, Mongo has been eating for sport again, and this time the result was blue.
Mongo got his notification from the vet that his vaccinations were due. Clearly the vet knows Mongo well. They aimed right for Mongo’s marketing weak spot.
Now Mongo has been counter-surfing in preparation for the Thanksgiving holiday. Dad on the other hand has been cooking. When Dad came down in the morning he found the bag of vegetable scraps from the night before was ripped open and spread out on the kitchen floor. Lying around the bag were just a few bits of pumpkin peel which were supposed to have gone out to the food and yard waste bin. The night before, there had been all manner of pumpkin goop, seeds, and scraps in the bag. Instead of Dad carrying those scraps out for mulching, it appeared that those scraps had been recycled via Mr. Mongo’s digestive tract. But that morning, there was no proof in the “pudding”.
However, the next morning, when Dad went out to poop scoop up the back yard, the proof of the fate of the pumpkin scraps was evident. Fortunately, everything passed through cleanly. In fact the pumpkin scraps were still bright orange. Happy Thanksgiving from Mongo!