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02:29 pm: I Has a Sweet Potato
You know, a lot of times I write up random posts and then don't post them. But Best Beloved just called me, and I could not really explain why I was inarticulate about sweet potatoes, so I said I'd go ahead and post this. That way, she can read it at work and know just what kind of day it has been. (Short version, for those who do not feel like reading the whole post: ARRRRRRG. Fucking sweet potatoes.)

The longer version, summarized in conversation form:

Dog: I am starving.
Me: Actually, no. You aren't starving. You get two very good meals a day. And treats. And Best Beloved fed you extra food while I was gone.
Dog: STARVING.
Me: I saw you get fed not four hours ago! You are not starving.
Dog: Pity me, a sad and tragic creature, for I can barely walk, I am so starving. WOE.
Me: I am now ignoring you.
Dog: STARVING.
Dog: Did you hear me? I am starving.
Dog: Are you seriously ignoring me? Fine.

[There is a pause, during which the dog exits the room in a pointed manner.]

[From the kitchen, there comes a noise like someone is eating a baseball bat.]

Me, yelling: What the hell are you doing?
Me: *makes haste for the kitchen and finds dog there*
Dog: *picks up entire raw sweet potato, which is what was causing the baseball bat noise, and flees for the bedroom*
Me: *chases dog, retrieves most of sweet potato, less the portion which has disappeared into dog's gullet*
Dog: See? STARVING.
Me: ...That can't be good for you. It's a RAW SWEET POTATO.
Dog: I had to do it. I haven't been fed. Ever.
Me: You realize you aren't normal. Normal dogs don't steal raw sweet potatoes.
Dog, sadly: I was badly brought up.
Me: Yes. Yes, you were.
Dog: By people who starved me.
Me: Oh, no. I am not doing this again.
Me: *exits the room, bearing sweet potato*

[There is a pause.]

[There is a noise like someone is trying to eat a baseball bat very very quietly.]

Me: Oh, for the love of GOD.
Me: *heads off to the kitchen*
Dog: I am not eating a raw sweet potato.
Me: You have sweet potato parts all over your snout.
Dog: But you don't actually SEE a raw sweet potato, do you? So maybe that's just - um. A birthmark.
Me: Did you seriously eat a whole sweet potato?
Dog: You don't listen. I told you, I wasn't eating a sweet potato.
Me, searching around fruitlessly: Look. NO MORE SWEET POTATOES.
Me: Oh, what am I saying? This is you we're talking about, here. *goes to hide all the sweet potatoes that are left - which isn't many - in the fridge, because some people cannot be trusted*
Dog: *attempts to look thwarted*
Dog: *does not succeed, because her tail is wagging so hard small cyclones are forming in the kitchen*
Me: *has a very bad feeling about this*

[There is a pause, during which I do not even bother trying to return to what I was doing. I just stand in the computer room, waiting.]

[There is, as I wholly expected, a baseball-bat-eating noise.]

Me, stomping back to the kitchen: OKAY. GIVE ME THE DAMNED SWEET POTATO.
Dog, looking up guiltily: What sweet potato?
Me: THE ONE IN YOUR MOUTH.
Dog: Oh, did you want this? I just, um. Found it. Lying here.
Me: *confiscates the sweet potato and deposits it in the locking trashcan*
Me: Let us say no more about this.
Dog: ...Nooooo! They be stealin' my sweet potato!

[I attempt to remember what I was doing before the sweet potato episode.]

[Some ten minutes later, I succeed, and return to it.]

[NOT ONE MINUTE LATER, I hear a noise with which I have become all too familiar.]

Me, bonking head on desk: Arg.
Me, arriving in kitchen: How did you even get another sweet potato?
Dog, smugly: I have my ways.
Me: Are you punishing me for being away for several days? I was at a FUNERAL, you know. It wasn't FUN.
Dog: How would I know? You didn't take me. You left me here with only one human to look after my needs. One human is NOT ENOUGH.
Me: *shuts dog in bedroom, conducts a sweep of the kitchen to track down all remaining sweet potatoes, wipes up random sweet potato particles from floor, eradicates all traces of sweet potato from house*
Me: *lets dog out*
Dog, sulkily: Oh, so you think you've won.

[I watch her go about her business with the same sense of overwhelming doom that heroines of Victorian novels get when they meet Count Sinistrus Grimblack for the first time.]

[Half an hour later, there is a wetter, juicier eating noise, as though someone was eating a very moist baseball bat.]

Me, wearily: What NOW?
Dog, hunched over the remains of a butternut squash: *says something garbled because her mouth is full*
Me: Okay. Fine.
Me: *stomps over, empties entire vegetable bowl into trash*
Me: WE JUST WON'T HAVE ANY ROOT VEGETABLES ANYMORE. THERE. ARE YOU HAPPY?
Dog: I'm not even remotely sorry. I told you I was hungry. And you went to a funeral without me.
Me: ARRRRRRRRG.

[A half-hour later, there is another baseball-bat-eating noise from the kitchen. The dog, who apparently does not know how to win gracefully, has found another sweet potato, or possibly caused one to materialize from the Rift.]

Me, hauling chewed sweet potato parts from the mouth of a dog very reluctant to part with them: Oh my god how is this my life?
Dog: Don't you think it would just be easier to feed me?
Me: EVERYONE GO TO THE BEDROOM AND STAY THERE. EAT NOTHING.
Dog: Actually, I feel...um...not so good.
Dog: *throws up* *vomit is very bright orange*

[Unfortunate details ensue.]

Some time later:
Me, attempting to rescue something from the wreckage: So. What have we learned from this?
Dog: Sweet potatoes are yummy!
Other Dog, looking thoughtful: I should pay more attention to crunching noises. Sweet potatoes are probably yummy.
Me: I need a lobotomy.

And that, Best Beloved - and anyone else who made it through that - is What Kind of Day It Has Been.

FUCKING SWEET POTATOES. ARG.

[ETA 6/22/2007: Hi! I can't reply to comments on this entry any more; I'm reading them all, and loving them, but responding is beyond me. So:

If you'd like to link people here, feel free.

If you'd like to leave a comment, please do. They make me happy.

If you'd like to repost or use this elsewhere, please don't; I'd prefer you to link. And no commercial use of my work without my permission, please.

If you see this reposted or used elsewhere, I'd very much appreciate a comment or email - thefourthvine at livejournal dot com - to let me know where.

Thank you for reading!

...And, yes, she has had more sweet potato; I gave it to her when the comments on this hit the tenth page. I figured she'd earned it.]

Comments

[User Picture]
From:vtladyhawke
Date:May 9th, 2007 12:55 pm (UTC)
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Wandered over from [Bad username: metaquotes"], and I felt the need to share a couple dogs-behaving-badly stories of my own. :)

Boone:

Boone was my fiance's GSD. I never met the dog, but apparently Boone had a penchant for herding cats. He would herd the cats into the bedroom, pull the door shut, then lie in front of it and guard the door. Cue his parents and him coming home to pathetic mewing emanating from the bedroom, and one very smug pup!

Mocha:

Mocha was again, another dog I never met, but was previously owned by my fiance. There was one time that my fiance got pizza from Bellasario's in Frederick, MD. (REALLY kickass pizza). He put the pizza in the car, with Mocha in the backseat. Mocha was told not to touch the pizza while he ran into the store for 2 minutes. Fiance comes back, and not only is the pizza gone, but the BOX as well!

Magnum:

Magnum is our current GSD. One night, I was cutting some bread in bare feet, and a small piece of it was hanging off the edge of the counter. Magnum comes up, noses the bread, and I whack his nose to get him to go away. He goes away and comes back with a large heavy bone in his mouth. He then looks at me, looks at the bread, and back at me. He then THREW the bone at my feet to get me to move so he could get the bread. Cue me yelling, and the dog hightailing it to the bedroom. I get to the bedroom and glare at the dog, who has a smug grin on his face. Fiance asks what's wrong, I tell him, and he doubles over laughing.

(He never got the bread, BTW) ;)

Thor:

Thor would eat damn near anything that was within his reach, and on more than one occasion I've come out to the kitchen to see a Husky-face grinning at me from over the breakfast bar. At that point, my usual MO is to yell "THOR, GET YOUR PAWS OFF THE F*$%#@*ING COUNTER BEFORE I TURN YOU INTO FUZZY SLIPPERS!!!" Fortunately, I've been able to nip Magnum's countersurfing in the bud, but I swear he learned that behavior from Thor.

Dogs....gotta love 'em, because otherwise, they'd be dead by now. ;D
[User Picture]
From:liminalia
Date:May 9th, 2007 01:02 pm (UTC)
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Maybe Magnum was trying to trade you the bone for some bread? :P
[User Picture]
From:littera_abactor
Date:May 9th, 2007 10:29 pm (UTC)
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I am deeply impressed with Bone. And my dogs are deeply envious of Mocha; they never get pizza, and they dream of being left alone in a car with a pizza box.

But I have to agree with liminalia; I think Magnum was trying to trade the bone for the bread.

I know what you mean about the throwing a bone at your feet, though; because Cassie (sweet potato dog) is what is laughingly called an "aggressive chewer" (a more accurate term would be "crazed obsessive chewer"; a still more accurate term would be "agent of destruction"), we have only the really dense, durable chew toys. Including a number of Galileo bones, which are notable for being a) almost impossible to destroy b) heavier than LEAD, I swear, and c) capable of developing an edge not unlike a primitive axe, after the dog has chewed it for a while. When Cassie drops these bones on us, they leave not just bruises but also CUTS. It's terrifying to wake up with a dog holding a sharpened Galileo directly over your head, let me tell you.

"THOR, GET YOUR PAWS OFF THE F*$%#@*ING COUNTER BEFORE I TURN YOU INTO FUZZY SLIPPERS!!!"

*nods wisely*

I tend to threaten them with rughood, myself. But slippers are good, too.

Dogs....gotta love 'em, because otherwise, they'd be dead by now.

Very, very true. I need a t-shirt that says that.
[User Picture]
From:iamfaeryish
Date:May 11th, 2007 09:13 am (UTC)
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Here from metaquotes...

Your "crazed obsessive chewer" reminds me of my friend's dog Lucy. Anything and everything. Rawhide is gone in less than five minutes. They thought they were safe for a while when they managed to acquire a boat bumper from the coast guard yard. For about six months they were, although their backyard was full of bits of black foam. Once she was done with it though, she went back to chewing concrete. Let me tell you, wandering to the bathroom in the middle of the night and stumbling on about five fist sized pieces of concrete... a very grumbly girl makes.

If she wasn't so adorable for an overgrown lap dog... Grey hound-pit bill mix equals not so small, but lovable dog.
From:(Anonymous)
Date:September 13th, 2007 03:39 am (UTC)

greyhound/pit bull mix?????

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I cant imagine such a thing. Dont suppose I could get a picture of Lucy?

No, I thought not :::::sigh:::: I really cant imagine what that would look like, given that the two breeds are physical opposites in nearly every way.
[User Picture]
From:iamfaeryish
Date:September 30th, 2007 09:58 am (UTC)

Re: greyhound/pit bull mix?????

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I'm so sorry I didn't even realize I had gotten a response. Lucy looks like a black barrel-chested labrador. She has the pit bull chest and the grey hound head. When I found out what she was I couldn't believe it. She is a gorgeous dog. Unfortunately I don't think I have any pictures but I'll poke my friend and see.
[User Picture]
From:mplsvala
Date:May 10th, 2007 03:12 am (UTC)
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Ain't that the truth.
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