I know this can’t be consistently (if ever) interesting…but once again, my dog ate himself sick on trash, and I can’t stop myself from telling you about it. He’s like a guppy: he’ll eat until he explodes.

The evil within.

“Why does this keep happening?” you’re probably thinking. He’s relentless and he has no shame, that’s why. He’s an unstoppable force of nature. I goof once in a while. Whatever. Don’t be hating.

“Didn’t you install a baby gate?” I did, but someone staying with me ripped it out of the wall (by accident). I didn’t witness the incident and kind of forgot about it as the gate itself is still attached on the other side…but Dozer, however, was on the ball in this case.

Yesterday I left for a few hours to see the new Batman movie. I had an instinct. I saw it coming. In preparation, I moved everything off the front counters that could vaguely be considered edible: his poultry toothpaste, a container of Tums, a flower in a vase, a potted aloe, half a chocolate bar, and a bag of some unexpectedly yucky chips that are kind of like rice cakes but have a horrible fakey artificial jalapeno taste that’s really unbearable.

Freakin’ idiot.

Ironically, all that made it through unscathed, because what Dozer decided to do instead was

a) breach the gate where it was no longer connected to the wall

b) eat a bag of trash consisting of mostly crab shells, papaya skins, coffee grounds paper towels (boy loves him a dirty napkin or paper towel used to drain bacon) and eggshells.

c) steal a highly fermented bag of Amish friendship bread starter (so raw, yeasty dough basically) and consume that ON THE CARPETS

d) God knows what else because I don’t have a motion camera.  ***ahem***

The net effect was a dog so bloated I honestly thought he might blow.  Well, he did actually, but that wasn’t for another six hours.

Seriously though, his stomach was rock hard and he looked like he’d gained 15 pounds.

Something about eating raw dough and crab shells makes a guy thirsty, because he also drank three bowls of water (easily a gallon and a half) and part of what he could find in the toilet bowl (water, but yuck water) and the cat’s water. Then he laid by his dishes and – pausing occasionally to cry softly – panted for a few hours.

Fairly certain he’s going to die.

He’s got health insurance – you don’t live with this animal for nearly seven years and not pay the $360 annual “just in case”: it’s an investment, not a gamble – but experience (an entire 12 oz. package of chocolate covered espresso beans, anyone?) has taught me he’d survive. I gave him a couple of the Tums – the internets implied he’d survive them, as well – and braced for the inevitable middle of the night wake up call.

It was spectacular – two gallons of water has to go somewhere – but at least it was outside.

And…true to his carrion-eating wolf ancestors…he’s as good as new, with a spring in his step again this morning.

I am vaguely hopeful he’ll put two and two together and think twice before raping and pillaging the kitchen again any time soon, but that dream is probably best filed under “hope over experience.”

Time will tell…

Well, so much for my hunger…er…blog strike.

I thought I could wait you guys out and someone would deliver up a wildlife cam for our shared enjoyment…but no. Not quite.

Turns out you’re a far more hardened bunch than I realized. Guess I’d better bone up on my passive resistance techniques or try another approach. How does regret hit you?

Take a gander at the Dozer-based chaos that wasn’t caught on film. Exhibit A is this venture into a bag of vacuum cleaner-based garbage (almost entirely composed of black dirt and hair) in the pursuit of an empty Styrofoam container and what was probably an eggshell or papaya skin.

***groan***

At least the vacuum cleaner was still nearby…

He almost looks like he's laughing.

Note the excessive amount of hair contained in the rifled through garbage. I have an endless problem with the furry beast, especially since summer (and occasional 90-degree days) have come. I brush him…really, I do…but it doesn’t seem to help. I suppose with dog grooming courses I could make some real traction, but I already have far too many “careers” and irons in the fire to start down that road.

He has no shame.

Or maybe you would have preferred to see him tear through these snacks?

And this doesn’t even include the two croissants, loaf of bread, bag of uncooked Thai rice noodles, and god knows what else I cleaned up before I remembered to photograph it for you.

Nonetheless, the King is my boy, and food theft is the cost of doing business when you live with a Malamute. In fact, when he was a puppy I met a woman who told me she’d been reduced to keeping her trash can on top of her fridge.

Granted, not a proper crown, but I think he was pleased nonetheless.

In other news…there isn’t much other news.

I’m about to start writing a new book…but I think I’m going to put the venture up on Kickstart and see if someone (ahem) won’t help me make ends meet while I do so. I have – as I mentioned – about five side businesses, but I would honestly pare my life down to just writing fiction (and of course this blog, which by the way is now four years old. Happy Birthday, blog! Sorry I’m such a neglectful parent. Thank god you don’t need food or you’d be dead.) if I could.

However, until that day comes, I’ll just continue freelance writing, giving hypnotherapy sessions, running workshops, helping out a local caterer, renting out my guest room to complete and total strangers (this is the first thing that’s going away as soon as I can swing it. Even though most everyone has been lovely, I really rather hate having other people in my house and having to fake like I’m thrilled they’re here. I would be a TERRIBLE bed and breakfast purveyor.) and selling drugs.

Just kidding on that last one, Mom and Dad. Selling drugs and having complete and total strangers sleep in your house don’t mix, so I went with the less dangerous (???) option.

This makes me laugh.

The King and I on our walk this morning.

You are.

But I think it’s time you put an end to that.

BUY IT!!!! Just let the impulse take over and BUY IT NOW!!!

And it wouldn’t just be you who would benefit. I’m missing out a little bit too. I won’t lie: I’ve been sad about that, but I’m ready to move on. Just imagine the fun we’ll have:  the laughs we would share, the stories we could tell, and the endless parade of blog fodder provided if only one of you would buy me the Primos Truth Cam 35 Camera.

No. I’m not getting into hunting nor do I think my neighbors are up to no good (well, they are, but I don’t need a camera to tell me that).

No, the intended target of my truth telling is my dog, Dozer.

In the last month he has realized (figured out?) that crunchy or crinkly bags or wrappers - although entirely sealed – contain good stuff. As a result of that epiphany, he has eaten several candy bars, an entire bag of egg noodles, and even a bag of salad.

Do you really think you could live with yourself knowing that you missed out on the footage the day he figures out how to use a can opener?

The next step is armed guards.

I didn’t think so.

And even though I’ve had to install a heavy duty baby gate around my kitchen (you read that right…unfortunately) that still doesn’t mean he can’t stand up on the counter nearest the dining room and pilfer all the items just listed. He can. He has. He will again…of this I have no doubt.

So come on!

Throw a dog a bone and a blogger a spy cam and help yourself out: there ain’t nothing funnier than a Malamute gorging himself on stolen people food while he thinks he’s all alone. Or at least that’s my assumption. I wouldn’t know as I have yet to see it myself.

You can change that.

And you can prevent forest fires.

Yes, you can!

He only looks innocent.

So what are you waiting for? That’s right. Click on the link from the wishlist there on the right, pull out your credit card, and send the Primos Truth Cam 35 Camera to Kihei.

p.s.

I’m not above taking an Ambien and putting the camera in my own room if it gets one of you to pull the spy cam trigger. Legend has it I look out the windows and say things like “They’re here.” Could be interesting stuff!

But we’ll never know unless you buy the spy cam, now, will we?

It’s a slippery slope.
I chose to err on the side of love.

Let’s consider the circumstances:
1) he is a “snow dog”
2) I am his sole caregiver
3) I hate snow
4) He eats Blue Buffalo Salmon flavor – look it up – and has been (and will be) catered to all his life.

And yet people occasionally guilt me – or try to. Guilt requires an opt-in to work – that he’s “suffering” here in Maui.
Perhaps he is.
I hope not.
I love him like a bad habit.

Exhibit A

Exhibit B

Need I state the obvious?

I rest my case.

To those folks who don’t care to read about my dog…sorry.

To that don’t want to hear about his yuck tooth…double sorry.

And, lastly, to those that don’t particularly want to hear about him and his periodontal situation and sure as hell don’t want to see the pictures…well, look away. And sorry.

That stated, around Christmas time I was prying something out of Dozer’s mouth (and to anyone who ever dines at my house: I am not above fishing a stolen stick of butter out of his throat and continuing to use it after a quick rinse off. Butter is expensive. Consider yourself warned.) and noticed a broken yuck tooth. At the time, I completely overreacted and immediately called the vet.

I was expecting a very expensive problem and maybe an extraction while under anesthesia and was relieved (elated even) to learn that what I thought was horrible rot was actually tartar. He’s such an enthusiastic bone eater that all his six-and-a-half year old teeth are white and perfect. He had stopped chewing with the broken one, so tartar had built up.

Anyway, she gave me this tube of (what I considered at the time to be) wildly overpriced enzymatic toothpaste and said to apply it with my finger. I’ve been doing this once or twice a week or whenever I remember since that time. I always rub it in good since he likes the flavor and immediately starts working his tongue around trying to gobble it up.

So anyway, yesterday morning I was putting the toothpaste on and felt a couple weird, hard objects under my finger. I fished them out and had a look: they reminded me of pieces of thin concrete. While wondering what he’d eaten to have concrete in his mouth, it suddenly occurred to me that they also looked an awful lot like the surface of his yuck tooth…and that’s because it was!

That toothpaste is the shiznit!

It turns out a perfectly normal-looking tooth is hanging out under the yuck. Check it out.

Crazy, right!?
And also super cool.

I’m like an archeologist uncovering treasure beneath layers of rock. I want to buy one of those scrapey tools the dentist uses and go to town on that tooth. I’m applying the toothpaste hourly and rubbing in a fevered excitement. I’m photographing it. I’m writing blog posts about it. I’m stopping strangers in the street and spreading the word. I’m freaking out, really. And all of that’s great except I’m also having to fight hard – successfully so far – an urge to use it on my own teeth.
Who cares that it says “for veterinary use only”!
Who cares that it’s $15 a tube!
Who cares that it’s poultry flavored!
(Well, maybe I care a little about that last one…)

Check out the progress from this morning. Admittedly, it’s not all the toothpaste’s doing at this point, but still…

I know, I know. And I am the last person to get excited about dentistry. I hate the dentist. And my guy – despite a really weird robotic bedside manner. He’s Japanese. I think maybe it’s that. Domo arigato, Dr. Roboto. – is a great dentist. Doesn’t matter. On principle, I am required to hate him.

Seriously, the last time I went to the dentist, I left feeling like I’d been to war. I had a funny feeling in my tooth whenever I used this one mouthwash. Although common logic would dictate ‘just don’t use that mouthwash,’ I had a gut instinct that I should get it checked out. So I go and see him at 11am. He takes an X-ray, pokes around, and tells me to get some lunch and be back at 1pm. Ummmmm… What? Why?

Well, because this is apparently a gargantuan cavity that eluded him and looked like “noise” on the film he took in December and there’s no time like the present to dish up some dental hell.

I will say he didn’t hurt me once, but that still didn’t mitigate the fact that it was a nerve wracking hour and a half experience during which time Dr. Roboto maybe spoke three sentences to me. He’s an artist though, the tooth feels smooth and happy and like it never happened.

I also gained the honor of presenting him with the “weirdest thing he’s seen in 22 years of dentistry” (words you never want to hear your doctor say: trust me on that one) and having a good excuse to drink tequila straight from the bottle and in my car.

So sufficed to say, I am not a fan of the dentist and I’m thinking this dog toothpaste could be my ticket to dental perfection. Sorry about my breath: I just brushed my teeth.