My Favorite Things (like kibble)

Trash

I do not normally talk to puppies, being that they are loud, nippy, and are confused about where to poop. But I will make an exception for you, kiddo, because you just moved in next door. 

Yes, I realize they gave you the name of Spike but I think that was somewhat ironic. You’re a Yorkshire terrier. You are not going to be big, not like Shannon or Amber, and certainly not like Gus. You won’t even grow up to be as big as Petey, that yap machine. But I digress. 

See, this is what these block parties are good for. They put out the paper plates and the plastic utensils and there are all of these dishes outside and there are picnic tables and the neighborhood blocks off the cul-de-sac. I realize you are less than a year old – even in dog years – but trust me, they do this every year. 

See over there, that guy with the tattoos all over his arms that look like a road map? And the big beard; I swear, it’s as if he were Santa Claus. Shannon says he really is Santa Claus but I don’t know about that. Anyway, Santa or not, he’s also known as the guy who owns the dry cleaner’s and he is Gus’s master. Over there, near the swing sets, see those bratty kids? Their screams can wake the dead. They are as loud as a garbage truck. Anyway, they and their elders own Shannon, but they make her sleep outside in a dog house. On that side, see that woman with the butt as big as a Newfoundland? Yeah, she’s Petey’s missus but she calls herself his mom. Which is weird, because I figure Petey, like most Jack Russell Terriers, came from a coffee plantation. 

That’s a joke, kid. It’s on account of how wired he always is. They all are. You, you should calm down at some point. I certainly hope so. Now, the one with the grey hair; she’s holding the tub of potato salad? That one is Amber’s missus. Amber does therapy. She’s an angel of mercy, she is. But back off, kid. I got dibs on Amber. Just because I’m neutered doesn’t mean I don’t have interest. You know what they say, right? 

You don’t? Well, it’s like this – neutered on the outside, Casanova on the inside. 

Yep, Spike, that’s right. 

Anyway, there’s always tons of trash at these things, and today is no exception. So I’m gonna tell you about the greatest food, ever, which is trash. 

You don’t believe me? Which one of us has seen a bunch of summers again? Yeah, that’s right. So trash. The beauty of it is that it comes in all of these delectable flavors. There’s flat soda, cold chicken bones, slightly moldy bread, sour milk, and mystery stuff. The mystery stuff, see, it’s a mystery. Sometimes it’s banana peels or tin cans. That’s not so good. Don’t eat those, kid. But other times, it’s papers or the cooled down oil from frying potatoes, or even the occasional mouse from the traps. I’m a terrier; we enjoy the chase when it comes to mice, more than anything else. It’s the thrill of the hunt, plus we get to bark and insult their mothers and stuff. 

But back to trash. You can also sometimes get old shoes or bubble wrap. Don’t eat the bubble wrap, kid, but it is kinda fun to take it out and bite it. I scared Gus really bad one time, and he’s a pit bull! I popped some bubble wrap right behind him; I bit into it because, you know, it might’ve turned miraculously edible. He did a fast poop and then ran back to the dry cleaner’s. I still don’t let him live it down. I think Amber might’ve been watching then. I can only hope. 

When you’re older, I’ll teach you how to attract the ladies. But I don’t know what Shannon would do with you. She’s, well, confidentially, she’s as dumb as a bag of biscuits. But you never heard that from me. 

So, trash. You sort it out, okay, you separate it. There’s the stuff you eat first, the stuff you might eat if it smells halfway decent, and then there’s the stuff you destroy because you can’t eat it. And that’s all you need to know about trash. Oh, look, there’s Amber. Watch me knock over that trash can. You saw those corn cobs go in there, right? We will feast tonight, and in the morning, it’s magic, there’ll be little bits of corn in our poop. 

But I will only say this once, Spike. They do not make good eating.