Note: I apologize in advance for this. While this post’s language will edited to be work-safe, the content might teeter on the line. You’ve been warned. Also, if you’re related to me (by blood or marriage) I apologize again and I ask that you don’t tell Grammy I wrote this.
This is my Moo.
Anyway, I have a problem with constantly picking up treats at the store for Maggie. I adjust her food accordingly so she doesn’t gain weight (okay, fine when I remember…) but I want to stuff her with treaty goodness constantly just as a reward for being SO DAMNED ADORABLE. At one point she had more variety in the cupboard than we did; does a 25lb dog REALLY need four different kinds of organic peanut butter biscuits?
Yes. Because she’s our schmoopy widdle lovey stinkpot.
Maggie has grody breath and needs something extra to help with her teeth, however she won’t chew on things. Unless it is tasty and can eventually end up in her belly, she refuses to gnaw on pretty much anything. Plus Jethro, having worked as a vet tech, is picky about what she eats. (Don’t get him started on Nylabones or rawhide.) Add to that a certain gastrointestinal incident after a week of one mini-Greenies a night, and our choices are rather limited.
While perusing Target one day, as I am wont to do, I picked up something called a bully sticks by Boots & Barkley. It sorta looked like a spiral of hard beef jerky for dogs, and since jerky is Maggie’s favorite treat (and mine) I thought it might be good for her. Also, the brand name is super cute and I am marketing’s slave.
The treats are about 6 inches long so I snapped one in half and gave it to Maggie. It was pretty brittle; her chowing down on it was loud and a big disconcerting, but she looooved it. So much so that I gave her the other half. While she was on her doggie bed, happily snarfing away, I read the back of the package.
“100% beef pizzle.”
Suddenly, my Shakespeare spidery-sense started tingling. Why does “pizzle” sound familiar?
Oh. Yeah. That’s why.
Yup. I gave my dog bull d*ck.
Now, this doesn’t faze me that bad, because I know what’s in Maggie’s food is much more gross than beef pizzle. Still, there is kind of tactile-induced general EWWW! about it. However, my inner 12-year-old boy rejoiced. Because he immediately realized to things.
“Heh heh. P*nis.”
“Jethro is gonna HATE this.”
Jethro isn’t squeamish per se; it’s just that while I’m more likely to poke at something with a stick, he’s more likely to stand by and go, “Seriously? You’re gonna catch something. Seriously, put the stick DOWN.” He deals with all sorts of grossness on a daily basis in his job as an environmental scientist so when faced with ick at home, he’d rather not. Which means I try to gross him out at every opportunity.
Plus, this opens the door to THOUSANDS of d*ck jokes.
Immediately, when Jethro got home, I handed him the package.
“Look what I got Maggie!”
“More treats? She’s gonna get fat.”
“Look what it is!”
“It’s bully sticks. They’re….awww, gross, Ally.”
*cue manic giggling from me*
I then proceeded to show him how much Maggie loves her bully sticks and to make every p*nis joke I could possibly think of. I won’t repeat them here, but they were about as classy as you’d expect. And HILARIOUS. If you’re crude like me.
There might have even been an interpretive dance involved.
Jethro has now resigned himself to this and just ignores me now when I call in a baby voice, “MAGGIE! You want some p*nis? Who wants some p*nis? My widdle baby girl wants some P*NIS?!?” I still find it hilarious. I tried to get her to come to me when I holler out “P*NIS!!!” but it was slow-going and I lost interest. Plus, the first night I did it she slept downstairs all night, which she only does when she’s mad at us, so I think she’s on to me and is NOT AMUSED.
But Maggie really does love them. She only gets half a bully stick every few days so I don’t know that they help her breath as much as I want (heh, d*ck breath) but it’s her new favorite. She’s not food aggressive at all, yet the first time I tried to take one away from her, she growled at me under her breath. I was horrified. We put a stop to that and she’s better, but we learned a valuable lesson that day.
Maggie loves the p*nis.