Over the holidays, one of my esteemed colleagues gave me two silver and gold wrapped presents, complete with a really nice red ribbons and bows. Each was about the size and shape of a beer can (a very common and popular gift in my social circle) but seemed heavier.
The tag said, “To Snorp, From Your Posse.”
The bearer of this mystery gift must have noticed my complete lack of understanding.
“Hey, man,” he said, “We know you had to put old Snorp up on the block, and, well, we all chipped in to get him a little Christmas/going away present. It ain’t much, but we all know how much Snorp means to you, and other than the way he sometimes clears out a room with whatever that is that leaks out of his ass, we all like him, too.”
Damn. I was touched. Moved. I never knew my friends were such a herd of weeping, screeching little sissies.
Earlier, I’d put an ad on Craig’s List, letting the world know that my dog, Ol’ Snorp, needed a new address. The world wasn’t ready for the change, because my ad was flagged, spindled and nuked within minutes. Seems a lot of my ads on CL wind up in the dumper these days.
Apparently, one of the guys had seen the ad during its nanosecond CL life, and decided to go something nice. Well, there’s a first time for everything, I guess.
Later that evening, I wandered back to the house. Snorp was unconscious on the back porch, surrounded by his usual viscous pool of drool, dozens of cigarette butts, empty beer cans and shredded Cheeto bags which served as the ‘refreshments’ for his unauthorized revelry.
The sink was plugged with long strands of feline hair and the back door looked like a herd of cats with chainsaws had tried to chew/scratch/burn their way out of the festive site.
Snorp has issues with cats. Serious issues.
Snorp opened one bloodshot eye, letting me know he was still alive. His stomach rumbled and within seconds my eyes watered, as Snorp bolted for the door. I guess they use some sort of dairy products in the Cheeto recipe. Dairy and Snorp never really did hit it off.
After 5 minutes of yacking, wretching and hacking, Snorp rather sheepishly nosed his way back into the house.
He staggered over to his water bowl, and after slurping up one quart, and drooling out another, he began pushing his food dish around with his nose. I couldn’t help but remember when he first learned how to push that bowl. It was nearly as big as he, and with his long, floppy puppy ears dragging on the floor….well, it was a Kodak moment, for sure.
I was reaching for his food, when I remembered the gifts my friends had bought. I ripped the wrappings off, grabbed a can opener, and pried the tops off Snorp’s dinner. Two cans was a little more than he normally ate, but normal wasn't Snorp's long suit.
I plopped both globs into his bowl, and tried to read the label. It's never has ceased to amaze me at the total lack of table etiquette that damn dog has. Words seldom escape me, but to fully understand the Snorp dining experience, you need to imagine the sound of several large cows trying unsuccessfully to walk through a 4 foot deep pit of mud, bovine poo and water. The crescendos of sucking, popping and slurping only begin to paint the audio landscape.
Four repulsive gulps later, Snorp shared a little gaseous gift with me, and groaned as he wandered onto the back porch foraging around for another beer.
I looked at the can. “Nummy Tum-Tum 100% Organic Pure Pumpkin for Dogs.”
Wow. Who knew?
I knew...shortly thereafter... when, from his quasi-drunken slumber, Snorp’s head snapped straight up. His eyes were nearly as big as his head, and he’d begun sweating rather profusely. He gulped noisily once, and exploded out the door.
I would eventually realize that the rumbling I heard 30 minutes earlier was Snorp’s digestive tract, processing a tsunami of fiber, not a parade of poorly tuned and maintained garbage trucks which just happened to be passing by.
It got pretty ugly. Really, really ugly, really fast. I’ll spare you the grisly details, and the chilling description of how I had to cradle Snorp’s quivering head and whisper reassuring words to him for the next three hours, all the while feeding him ice chips.
The investigation would later substantiate that the aforementioned, “Yummy Tum-Tum 100% Organic Pure Pumpkin for Dogs,” is a food supplement.
sup·ple·ment
[n. suhp-luh-muh
nt; v. suhp-luh-ment] 
Supplement .
A supplement. Something which is added to the diet, not used as a replacement for it.
The fine print clearly called for 1 tablespoon per 10 pounds of dog, not the roughly two pounds I'd poured into the already highly-suspect digestive tract of my now psychologically damaged dog.
Think of it is being roughly comparable to chugging 4 cups of warm mayonnaise, in.... oh, I don’t know…. maybe, 10 seconds.
“Nummy Tum-Tum 100% Organic Pure Pumpkin for Dogs” is a fine product... an excellent product. It’s designed to enhance the health and well-being of all things puppy. I strongly encourage you to ask for by name wherever you buy your fido-food. Use it to help your dog enjoy a full and happy life. Use it... but, unlike the true bastard that I am, read and follow all the instructions... to the letter.
I’ve heard nothing but the best about “Nummy Tum-Tum 100% Organic Pure Pumpkin for Dogs” from the other folks who bring their dogs to the Tuesday night canine support group.
These days, Snorp keeps his face to the window when we’re driving to his meetings. He avoids eye contact and is squirtingly startled by shadows, leaves and the movement of clouds. He never says a word, not to me… not to anyone. He sighs a lot and he's begun to quietly weep for no apparent reason. He hasn’t smoked in two weeks, and won’t drink a beer with me. Cats strut, squirt and stroll on our front porch. Snorp is one broken puppy, and I'm to blame.
My longtime companion has been hurt by my ignorance, and I’m sure he will bear the scars of my stupidity for a long time to come. (You’ll want to multiply by dog years here)
Something happened as Snorp processed and then ejected that pumpkin supplement and everything else in his stomach's zip code. Something happened, something terrifying and life-altering, as my beloved hound was propelled, wild-eyed and frothy-lipped, and screaming, over the soon-to-be-dead grass in our back yard.
The road ahead, for Snorp, is rough, rocky and uncertain.
For my part… I’ve learned, the hard way, to read and follow the instructions.
Squirt me an email. We'll compare carpet cleaners.
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