You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy.
Black Jack.
He’s 65 pounds of Black Lab.
He’s a four-footed consumption machine.
He’s like a tiny muscular bull, with a thick skull and a omnipresent doggie smile.
He is friendly and loyal and hungrier than a 3rd world nation lining up at a UNICEF chopper drop.
Black Jack is a stomach with teeth.
There’s nothing this 11-year-old hound won’t eat.
I’m told he’ll eat wood.
Yep, Wood.
If given the chance, he’ll pluck a flaming log right out of the fireplace.
Now that’s a case for Pepsid AC.
The other day, he ate a chocolate bar.
They say chocolate isn’t good for dogs.
That’s true for most dogs.
Black Jack isn’t most dogs.
Black Jack is part mastodon – part garbage disposal with fur.
So if chocolate is bad for K9’s, what about the plastic wrapping that covers the chocolate bar?
Is that good for a dog?
It’s high in fiber, right? It’s certainly high in industrial polymers.
With that said; Black Jack ate the entire package; plastic, cardboard, chocolate and all.
All the essential nutrients of the periodic chart in one quick gobble.
Now I didn’t see him eat the chocolate. I can only imagine it.
But OH what an image.
Can you imagine eating anything with the wrapper still on it?
I am mad if my shrimp isn’t deveined.
Black Jack would eat the shrimp boat captain’s peg leg.
I understand eating chocolate. It’s delectable. But what does hard plastic wrap taste like?
Lighter fluid? Brake dust?
I’m told Black Jack once ate Cascade dishwashing soap.
Can you imagine?
That stuff will kill you.
It says right on the package: WARNING
Black Jack cannot read.
They say what goes in, must come out.
After this big dog eats anything and everything there is a funk in the air.
What’s that smell?
OMG
It’s like mustard gas from a WWII Nazi weapons stockpile.
His rear end fires bombs that smell like the business end of a sewage treatment facility.
He will smile his doggie smile all the while smelling like a Vietnamese slaughter-house in the middle of summer.
Chocolate flavored plastic?
Broken down inside the gut of a big jovial hound dog, chocolate flavored plastic becomes something sinister.
And when the big dog lifts his big tail?
It’s debilitating.
It’s like putting on a diving helmet with a diaper soiled with brand new baby meconium.
The tail end of Black Jack’s digestive track is thick like fermenting potato soup that has somehow aerosolized.
The other day, this shark with a flea collar ate a loaf of bread.
A loaf of bread!
This interminable carnivore is the David Copperfield of consumption, making a pantry full of food, plastic wrapping, and metallic twist ties disappear.
And afterwards?
A loaf of bread and metal smell like a Tia Juana jail break.
Black Jack relaxing at your feet is funky like a 1970’s Kool and the Gang after party.
“Hey someone pass the bratwurst and spam.”
Black Jack is a big happy mutt.
His good heart is surpassed by a bottomless, cast iron stomach filled.
The 1st time I met this four-footed poop-a-saurus, there was a sound I won’t soon forget.
It was the sound of a 5 pound pork tenderloin being dragged off the counter and striking the floor.
THUD
Then a sucking sound.
WOOOSH…
That’s the sound of hunk of meat being inhaled into a mouth, then swallowed without so much as a single chew.
PLOP.
That’s the sound of 5 pounds of expensive pork landing in a stomach that is lined with angry wolverines that break down the molecular bond of everything from food to metal to plastic.
He is a good dog, a loyal dog.
After eating anything, he smiles, through a grizzled white muzzle.
Then quietly, unexpectedly, like a Ninja warrior of stench, he blows out a foul zephyr of putrid stink.
It arrives like a tax collector in the night.
It is thick like frozen motor oil.
It is a felonious assault on your olfactory nerve.
It smells like methane leaking from an old retention pond.
But Black Jack is loyal and good-natured and loving.
It makes you want to push the bread out of reach, keep the dishwashing tablets locked under the cabinet.
Hey Black Jack, want a milk bone?
Ruff Ruff.
That’s dog language for yes.
“hey was he eating out of the cat box again?”
Oh no….
Life’s Crazy™