This is Kirby. A Schnauzer/Poodle/Basset mix.
I adore him. My mom and I adopted him from a shelter my senior year of high school. He was found in a barn covered in cockleburs. Now he lives with me and Jason now that Mom has three Boston Terriers. There are times when I look at those oddly human brown eyes and thank the deity on duty that we nabbed him first.
Today is not one of those days.
I blame Jason.
Jason has an issue with sitting still. If this were 1960 he would be a smoker. I’ve suggested he take up knitting more than once. Now that Kirby lives here, Jason pets him. Incessantly. Now, because I know everything and have seen more “It’s Me or the Dog” episodes than I care to admit I could see the end result of acting out for attention. It took a while for Jason to get it and promise to let Kirby be.
And because I’m always right, this happened…
I woke up, went to say hey to Jason and saw a pack of hotdogs on the floor.
Babe, WTF? I’m ready to tear him a new one. This is not the first time he would have left food out. Just the first time I found it on the floor.
Upon further investigation we found that Kirby opened the refrigerator, ate a box of butter, then brought Jason a pack of hotdogs.
A few hours later, we found Kirby gnawing on a stick of butter right next to Jason’s computer.
A few hours after that, Kirby threw-up. I had to wash his beard to get the rancid butter smell out. He spent the night and the next morning look ashamed.
Since then, I have been smelling rancid butter everywhere. I spent all day shrieking “I SMELL BUTTER! WHERE IS IT?”, sending Jason and Kirby to quake with fear in a corner.
It’s never boring around here.