Nate, being the diligent doggy daddy that he is, makes a stop at one of South Sioux City, Nebraska’s finest truck stops and notices the most revolting, repulsive, repugnant rawhide-looking chew stick ever. At $1.99 it seems like a bargain. We promised Maggie a week or so ago we would get her a new rawhide bone. I bought her a bulk bag of rawhide squares from WalMart almost a year ago, but being the prima dona that she is, they don’t do the trick. She prefers real rawhide in the shape of a bone or donut. That can entertain her for hours unlessyou bring out real food.
That said, we bring home the new toy. I don’t remember the exact name, maybe “Buddy Stick” or “Chew Stick.” Something very generic. But it promised to be “all natural,” (but did not list the ingredients), “good for pets,” and “not safe for human consumption.” Some how this does not add up. So we unwrap this unappetitizing item and give it to Mags. If anybody would like it, it would be our four-legged friend who also enjoys the smell of her own poop. She seems unfazed. Instead, she just begs for my turkey sandwich and nate’s cheeseburger. Then she licks dirt off the floor and continues to ignore her new toy. Every five or ten minutes, she smells it, maybe gives it a lick or two and then walks away. After that, we leave her in her palatial room for several with the thing (which kind of reminds me of a mummified hand).
Fast forward about five hours. We get home and remind Maggie about her new puss-colored concoction which maybe moved a foot or two since we left. Then she starts to chew, and chew, gnaw, devour and grind. Her eighth-of-an-inch teeth drill into this boulder of a bone like the crews trying to carve into Crazy Horse while her tongue lashes at it like the whip of a dominatrix, coaxing it to soften. She fixates on it and slowly parts of it wear away and she eats it. When nate makes and eats a tuna sandwich in front of her, she does not flinch. She keeps up her work. This is our first inkling something strange may be happening here. Never can we remember a time Maggie did not beg for food, especially stink tuna.
As we get ready to sleep, Maggie does not let the drool-soaked stick out of her mouth to get on the bed. At one point, I move toward her and she leaps of the bed and into the closet to keep up her chewing, fearful I will stop her. Then as we coax her out, I try to carry her onto the bed. She growls. Another thing I never remember her doing before. Remember, this whole time she never lets the crazy bone out of her mouth. Then the unthinkable happens. Now I touch her to again put her on the bed and she spins around, bares her teeth and growls. Maggie, my beloved little princess pug, lunges at my arm and I feel a slight poke. Her eyes seems to bug out of her head (I know some of you might think they do that anyway, but this is different) and her pupils seemed dilated like she visited the optometrist. nate jumps in to stop her and she looked like Tyrone Biggums, some crack addict stoned beyond recognition. nate proceeded to put her in her time out box for awhile and when she returned, she kept looking for that thing. Even 12 and almost 18 hours later, she might smell traces of it and go crazy.
I don’t know what they put in that thing. Maybe crack, heroine or meth, but something happened to Maggie last night. It’s one of the bad drug experience that ends in mug shot like Gary Busey, not one of those funny ones that produces a movie like Half-Baked.
Now I am left to wonder what I should do with her. If I send her to NA, I might make life worse for a lot of other people. Think of all the recovering crack heads who hear about this wonder drug, a dog bone that they could carry around and get high on. Yes, from now on, Maggie sticks to regular rawhide bones when she wants to play and beer when she wants to party.