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My Gross DogJuly 25, 2009 Yesterday Trav and I were walking along the path behind the West Tisbury School. A young woman came running down the path from the old hippie camp (aka "dump"). She stopped to admire Travvy, saying she was late for work. A plastic baggie was hanging from her hand. Travvy ate it. "I think he got my trail mix," she said. I looked on the ground. I looked in Travvy's mouth. It was gone. Since he's managed to pass, on three separate occasions, yellow rubber gloves, not to mention a few miscellaneous plastic strips, I wasn't too worried. This afternoon I was sitting on the deck, reading. Trav was lying next to me. He got up, prowled around, looked out between the rail supports, and then started heaving. After a few seconds he upchucked a considerable pile of mostly digested dog food, decorated with a few intact turkey dog bits -- and the baggie of trail mix, which was pretty well camouflaged by the rest of the junk. Using a kitchen knife, I extracted it and carried it to the wastebasket. Trav, of course, recycled the rest of the food. Somehow there was enough left in his digestive system to create a normal poop on the walk we just got back from. Allie, by contrast, is fastidious to a fault. She doesn't really like to go through puddles. After the previous night's very heavy rain, some of the trails yesterday were more like canals. We were trotting down one of them, me using leg and indirect rein to keep her on course, when she edged herself a little too far to the left and brushed me hard against an oak. Oak trees have rough bark. My left forearm was bleeding quite dramatically. I didn't see what was going on with my left calf till I got home and took my schoolers off: nicely scraped, big bump, bruise about the diameter of a cereal bowl, but no blood. I yelled. Allie clearly thought it was my problem, not hers, and we trotted on.
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