I awoke before dawn this morning, maybe 5:30 a.m., because I felt some rustling around at the foot of our bed. Sat up and saw Chickenbone laying there, gleefully chewing on some kind of toy. Only it didn't really look like any toy I had given him. For a moment I thought it was one of his rawhide treats shaped like cigars, but ... well, no, looks a little too long to be that. Doesn't really sound like that, either. So I reach down and pluck it out of his paws. Ah. OK. It's my friggin' DENTAL FLOSSER. You know what kind I mean? The long plastic wand that has those little replaceable hoops of floss on one end? Like this.
Evidently, Chickens grabbed the flosser right off the coffee table. (Guess this is where I admit that I floss while I watch TV.) But what really kills me is, it's not like he saw me flossing and immediately wanted the stick. No, he actually went to bed, slept for five hours, woke up and thought, "Ooh, I wonder if that cool stick is still out there!" He jumped off the bed and headed to the living room, and stood on his tippie-toes to drag it off the table. Then he came back to bed and enjoyed a fine little snack.
So I'm staring at the slobbery end of the stick, which was mangled all to shit, and I realize with horror that the little plastic flosser hoop? Gone. You and I both know what that means. I told my husband I was worried about it working its way through the ol' system. But he was like, "Eh, it'll be fine." And it strikes me that he's probably right. Why? Because Chickenbone's stomach has probably seen worse.
Last night, he ate a snail. It had been raining, and when we went for a walk, Chickens wasted no time in feasting on a crunchy (and some might say gourmet) little treat. A few months ago, in the middle of the night, he plucked not one, but BOTH earplugs out of my head and swallowed them. My earplugs and I were reunited 8 to 10 hours later.
Chickens has also devoured poop and barf and a whole bunch of other crap while walking around our neighborhood. You really wouldn't believe all the stuff you find on the ground when you have a dog. We live in downtown San Jose, right next to beautiful old St. James Park, and we take Chickens there three or four times a day. But there are a lot of bums there, and boy, do those bums love to throw away food! Thanks to his finely tuned sniffer and appetite, Chickens and I have discovered two withered hot dog wieners; a peach pit; a microwave burrito; an entire cheese sandwich on white bread; a green apple; and believe it or not, at least a dozen actual chicken bones. Those are his favorite, which grosses me right out. And every time he grabs something like this, I scream "Noooooooo!" while I stuff my hands into his face and pry his little jaws open. Then I wrangle his head around so his mouth faces the ground and I jiggle his head back and forth, and once in awhile, if I get very lucky, the offending object will fall out. It's not a pretty sight, and it's probably why I scare all those homeless guys a hell of a lot more than they scare me.
P.S. Here's a handsome photo of Chickens in the park!