with the theme of “gross things in my life this week,” I finally got rid of the cat this morning. I had to wait for it to actually die before I could shovel it into a plastic bag, so I spent yesterday afternoon and evening checking on its breathing. The dog didn’t know what to make of it — he’d sniff it and whine and then walk away puzzled. I’ve been watching The Glades every night on Netflix (thanks Kristy! loving it!) and although I’d like to think I could be the cute forensic nurse that helps solve crimes, after dealing with the cat, I don’t think dead bodies are my thing.
Of course when I went to run the dog at the “beach” (our mud flats) the dog found a dead seagull and carried it around like a prize.
He stayed out of reach so I couldn’t take it away from him and proceeded to eat the rotting carcass. Dogs are disgusting animals.
He’s doing a full body wiggle of joy over his treat.
Every time I distracted him and got him away from it for a minute he’d go running right back.
Eventually I took it away from him and chucked it into the water (just what I wanted to do, handle a rotting and disease covered bird with my bare hands), knowing he wouldn’t swim after it. (He’ll get his feet wet, but hasn’t discovered the joy of swimming.) So instead he just waited on the shore until the current brought it close enough to retrieve it.
I give up.