drawing the line at cat poo

So that thing the dog has been waiting for has finally happened.  Sam learned to throw food off his high-chair tray.  Old Black Dog waited patiently these past nine months.  She started getting excited when we got the chair and set it up in the kitchen.  Is it possible she remembers Ladybug’s chair and associates the thing with snack time? 

And then you could really sense her patience was wearing thin when he was eating baby food that went straight from the spoon to his mouth.  She sat quietly under the chair during every meal for a dog’s eternity.  What’s eternity times seven? Long.  Until FINALLY, the first Cheerio fell with a wholesome click onto the tile. 

Now it’s all I can do to keep her from making eye-contact with the boy before I get a slice of turkey and some blueberries in him.  Because after those big brown droopy things meet up with his baby-blues, the food starts dropping.  And she’s not shy.  His little hands grip chicken and cheese and dangle over the side of the seat just low enough for her to stretch her neck up and ever-so-gently nibble the soggy snacks from his fist.  And he thinks it’s the greatest trick ever.

So sweet.  *sigh 

In fact, I tried to get in on that sweet action.  At the end of the couch was the Old Black one and she snored while I picked a big booger.

{Heeeeere Chope. C’mere sleepy ol’ sleepy-do.}

What? The tissues were WAYYY over on the table at the opposite end of the couch.  And I had just mopped, so flicking it was out of the question. (as if)

{Wakey, wakey old lady bear.  Gotta lil’ snacky-poo for ya."}

One weirdy pink eyelid thingy sagged down and a single loud snore rang out before she heard me and thumped a graying, fuzzy tail.

{There you are, princess stink-breath.  How ‘bout you come get this boogy?}

I beckoned with the index.

She stretched her lazy legs and came down the couch pillows to me and plopped half on top of my waist.  And sniffed.  At the end of my finger was a prize-worthy crust-nugget and she stuck a pink tongue out to sample.  It darted in quickly.

{No, thanks.}

{NO THANKS? What does that mean?}

{Nothing. Just that your booger isn’t appetizing.}

{blink blink}

{No offense. I just don’t feel like booger right now.}

{really?}

{yeah. not boogerish right at this particular moment.}

I surveyed the green thing at the end of my index finger. It was half mushy/half crispy.  Seemed like a dog’s dream come true.  Hell, even my littlest niece would be chewin on such a prime nose nubble.

{wipe}

{Did you just wipe that on my nose?}

{blink blink}

{You know I can’t NOT lick my nose if there’s something on it.  Even if it’s your incredibly UNtasty booger…}

{do it}

{ugh, SLURRRP}

{thank you, princess}

{you’re disgusting}

{you eat cat shit}

{poooooot}