You know how in movies when people are in love they kiss like they’re trying to get something that’s stuck in each other’s teeth? My dog Stinker has this toy he likes to kiss passionately like that. Or maybe he’s chewing it, I don’t know. It’s hard to tell. There’s a lot of mouth action and some obvious deep feelings.
Movie people manage to keep the foam to a minimum during these scenes, a policy that is not shared by Stinker. It’s probably because those actors are just pretending to care about each other. Stinker’s gross devotion is sincere.
I call this toy of his Grossnasty. None of us know what it was when it started out—could have been a teddy bear, could have been a pair of undies. But anything that a beagle loves up this much for years and years takes on an appearance that can’t be understood by the human brain. Such is the power of Beagle Froth.
Recently, when the wet, slobbery chewing sound and dog-saliva odor became too much for me to endure, I decided to throw Grossnasty away. I walked right up to Stinker with a trash can, stooped down, and touched the horrid toy by its ear or waistband or whatever.
And Stinker EXPLODED into this snapping, growling, spitty ball of fury that actually scared me enough to make me jump up on my dresser. (He looked just like the werewolf in that one werewolf movie I totally want to see.)
Fortunately, I maintain a very cluttered room, and I had numerous knickknacks within reach to hurl at him until he backed down. If my room has been as tidy as my mom wants it, there is a very good chance that I would have been swallowed by an enraged beagle.
In addition to old fat beagle Stinker, we now also own his dogdaughter, Stinkette, who we got by means of Stinker’s unapproved marriage to Angeline’s dog, Stickybuns. (Why am I telling you all this again, Diary? You remember this, don’t you?)
Back to Stinkette: This morning, Stinkette stupidly waddled up to Stinker—who was really going to town on his beloved Grossnasty—and she chomped down on it and tugged.
I instantly leaped on my dresser with a ceramic bear bank aimed directly at Stinker’s fangs. I was ready for him to launch into fat werewolf-dog made, but he did…nothing.
In fact, he even wagged his tail a little. (He never wags his tail, so it cracked like a bunch of old knuckles.) Then Stinkette pulled Grossnasty away from him, hopped on my bed, and started to grossfully chew on it herself. Stinker actually gave his dogdaughter the single item he loved most in the whole world. Something suddenly became very clear to me: I really want to burn that bedspread now.
