Thursday, June 3, 2010
C is for Chicken...
The Man made dinner tonight. Poultry. I have to say poultry because the dog goes nuts whenever we mention the C word. No, it's not the C U Next Thursday (it makes me giggle even if it's written out like that). C-H-I-C-K-E-N. Yes, chicken. It's not because he really knows what it is but he thinks whenever we mention the C-word it means that his prized rubber chicken will make an appearance, out of whatever hiding place we choose. He whines, he cries and he howls. Man, does he howl. I'm not sure if he's howling to let us know he's got a catch or if he's saying "Hurry up and die, why don't you!" This rubber chicken has 50 billion lives. It's like the song that never ends. It's great for him but not so good for us since his play time consists of a screaming chicken and a howling dog, for hours on end or until we tell him to drop it and we go and hide it away again for another month.
So now I'm at a loss for what to do. I might take Kao to the P-A-R-K - the dog park, that is. Or, I might just sit back, drink my Coke Zero in peace and take a long bath. I think the bath is winning out.
That, my bloggy friends, is a post about nothing. It feels great.