I've often alluded to the fact that Mr. Gibson eats his own poop. It's not a joke. Seriously. It's actually a disease that some dogs have called Coprophagia. He doesn't eat anyone else's poop. No, he's picky and he just wants his own. We've tried meat tenderizer on his food, medicinal powder, and pills. All are supposed to have the effect of making his poop taste vial to him. But what is a more vial than the taste of poop I ask?
Next we tried to clean up after him each time. But this just isn't realistic, especially in the winter when it is -1 degrees out, like it is today. This weather has caused me to coin the phrase poopsicle. Sometimes he doesn't give you a chance to clean it up. He likes it hot out the oven. Many a day, DG and I have run, screaming as if in slow motion across the yard as we see what is about to occur. There is no amount of yelling or scolding that will make him stop. When he was a few months old he swallowed a fish hook in the alley and had to have it surgically removed from his tummy. This past summer, I caught him red handed eating a dead bird. Even the lure of other, better treats would not make him cough up that bird. I glared at him in a stare down, in vain, as he had 2 little bird legs sticking out of his mouth. He's a stubborn one that Mr. Gibson.
But look at him, how could you love him any less? He's my pride and joy. Even as he cuddles up next to me and burbs up the most foulest of odors fully disgusting anyone in a 20 foot radius, he's so darn cute.
So what is the moral of this story? No matter how handsome he looks, no kisses from Mr. Gibson.
Labels: Coprophagia, dachshund, dogs
