The collie and the sausage

Well, today I managed to get outside for a bit and do some more work - put up another handrail - even dug the post hole myself (a job I normally delegate to the younger more supple among us) because I knew that if I dug, my back, knees, and arms would hurt, which they are doing. Nevertheless, I did it (at least this once) because an operating mantra for most of my life has been don't ask someone to do something if you yourself have neither done it nor would do it.

(Note: I don't do horses, and I fail miserably at cleaning up someone Else's barf. Note2: When I was training to be a McDonald's Manager, I did work at a store doing ALL the different types of jobs. My favourite was working the grill - flip those patties, man! My second favourite was working the Shake machine - hows 'bout a little extra squirt (or three) of the chocolate syrup, man! My least favourite was janitor. Yes, I actually did clean the bathrooms, with all kinds of unspeakable filth left behind - and that was just the ladies bathroom. Yes, the men's did have barf [why is it that drunks ALWAYS go for a big juicy Big Mac - with its "special sauce" - swallow it almost whole, then decide that it and the gallon of beer they drank previously really don't mix, and regurgitate the whole stinking mess via dollops of chunkiness into the "public" washroom of the dining establishment - leaving said deposit NOT in the toilet to be flushed down by said drunk, but rather deposited on the floor by the door for the benefit of the next person to enter, who then comes screaming complaints that the washroom is in DESPERATE need of attention & clean-up], and naturally of the 5, I say again 5 (five) Manager Trainees on duty that night it was I, sadly I, who was acting as janitor and whose duty it was to boldly go where no one in their right mind would go - especially those of queasy stomach - and confront said mess with all the aplomb available to one who retches at the thought of - well never mind what. Needless to say I involuntarily added a small deposit of my own to the pile - which meant that I was tasting and smelling my own barf (which somehow made the task easier - I guess the idea ties into that one's own farts don't stink.)

The other thought that occupied me while mopping was a memory of my Sister's dog, a Scots Collie (named Montgomery Beaumont - Monty for short) - a good dog, but stupid, with very poor table manners. (sample picture - NOT Monty)


As the baby in my family (which is why I pity Critter), even though it was my Sister's dog, it was on occasion my job to feed the stupid thing. One day I dutifully mixed a large can of Dr. Ballard's Beef Stew with several cups of dry kibble, mixed it up real good (as my Sister had shown me), put it before the dog who unceremoniously bit and swallowed - no chewing - downing the bowl in maybe, just maybe, 5 or ten seconds. Fast enough that I was impressed and surprised. Even more so when, within the hour, the dog started to act real strange and I swear his stomach was rumbling and growling and the dog's eyes grew real wide and he started to huff and puff and wheeze and all of a sudden he arched his back, opened his mouth wide and with a mighty heave barfed out a perfect sausage mixture of Dr. Ballard's Beef Stew 'n Kibble! A perfect loaf maybe a foot long and 3 or four inches in diameter, smooth sided and in one long unbroken piece - there, right on the floor, just inches from my feet. On that sight I managed NOT to barf myself, but broke out laughing at the sight of that poor dumb dog. Now what DID GROSS ME OUT is that the dog, seeing this delightful monstrosity, sniffed at it several times, circling it - making it literally the centre of his attention - and with multiple approving shakes of his tail RE-ATE the thing in several, smaller, bites and floor-lickings with much careful chewing this time around. There was not a trace of it left behind. Having finished this "second" meal, the dog of course wanted to express his gratitude to me, and did, indeed, try to lick my feet/hands/face in boisterous obeisance until I, laughing, managed to fend him off until he gave up and trotted off blissfully unaware of the memory he had left, perhaps permanently, for me to draw on when needed. That was how I managed to clean up Mac n' beer chunks in a McDonald's washroom in London in 1973.

Unfortunately, now when I see barf the FIRST memory is the Mac n' beer, which explains my propensity to barf, too.

All because of the collie and the sausage...)