Can y’all stand another Mama-story, one with no mention of a bat, I promise?
This happened on a Sunday back in the summer, and the reason I’m telling you that is because it’s important.
(What’s more important is that Mama has been very selfish in allowing me access to her blog. Don’t tell her, but I think she’s embarrassed over the story I’m about to tell — as well she should be!)
Mama decided she’d finally reached the Breaking Point (whatever that is) with my runny behind.
Yes, I confess I was fighting diarrhea for several days, and it’s NOT pretty on the skirts of my back-furs.
Mama figured the problem was that fancy Science Diet food she’d bought me. I don’t need fancy food, Mama. Hamburgers, chicken, turkey, and the occasional apple, carrot, or green bean is just fine with me.
Oh, and donuts. As many and as often as you’ll let me have ’em.
But Mama went to the store, trolled the aisles, and finally decided on another fancy kibble — Taste of the Wild.
Works for me, though sad to say, my “wild days” ended a while ago.
When Mama got back home, she decided to toss the old food down the garbage disposal and put the new food into her hermetically sealed container with its snazzy snap-on lid.
So far, so good.
Grandmama saw the pile of old food in the sink, but figured she’d let Mama deal with it.
Nobody thought there was a problem brewing.
Mama poked and shoved that food, and the dragon-in-the-sink chomped and sputtered. Eventually, the side sink got into the act and BOTH sinks filled with nasty brownish murky water (yep, way worse than my skirts ever looked!)
With plunger in hand, Mama called Grandmama back downstairs to help out, and I swear, the two of them looked like Laverne and Shirley as they bailed yucky water into a bucket, hauled the mess outdoors, and dumped it over the fence (surely pleasing the farmer who owns that field).
There was a lot of yelling and some well-placed cursing going on (mostly from Mama, who ever so often stopped to give me the stink-eye).
Mama, this was NOT my fault, and I resent your taking it out on me!
Grandmama, seeing the situation wasn’t getting one bit better and figuring the entire mess would turn to cement inside the drainpipes, called three plumbers, but have you ever tried to get a plumber on Father’s Day?
Nope, not happening.
The next day, one of the plumbers arrived and promptly chided Mama for putting dry kibble down the disposal in the first place.
‘That’s designed to swell in water so the dog feels full,’ he explained. ‘Your pipes aren’t big enough to handle a wad that size.’
So I ask you, who’s the dummy here??
Note: In the interest of public service, I Dallas will tell you what the plumber told Mama. Don’t put rice, noodles, onions, carrots, banana peels, or dog kibble down the garbage disposal. And I imagine that goes for the Christmas goose carcass, too. (By the way, Happy Christmas to all!)