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epitome of incomprehensibility
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My brother just popped his head in the dining room and told me, "Puppy's eating my Kleenexes again." And to the dog, "Puppy, you're not supposed to go in there."
I understand not interfering, not wanting to get growled at (though Shiloh seems to be past the biting stage - no longer a puppy, despite Y.'s appellation). But. BUT.
Our cousin Lia marveled yesterday that Shiloh pooped three times while she was here. Twice on our walk alone. The second time I didn't have a bag, but I saw that he'd pushed out whitish nuggets with a tan coating, which meant they were mostly Kleenex tissue. So I just grabbed a length of toilet paper that I'd meant for my own nose-blowing and picked up the stuff, waiting for the crossing light so I could deposit it in the garbage across the street.
Lia, certified dog person, appeared alternately impressed and grossed out. "What's if you get poop on your hands?"
"I have hand sanitizer."
"But could that wash it off?"
I looked. Pah - even though my handful was mostly tissue, it wasn't the best-smelling thing in the world. I explained about its Kleenexy and un-food-poopy content.
"You could just leave it on the grass, you know. It's not like you do that all the time."
"Well, I might as well..." The light changed and I hurried across to the bin, making it there and back before the next sequence.
Why do dog Kleenex poops look like popcorn? is a sentence I never thought I'd say.
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