Letter from the Shitzoo

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Dearest Mother,

How is Arizona? Do you miss me? I am fine, the farm is AMAZING . . . but it’s really not the same without you. I have been thinking of home and how great it is. Then I was thinking that as terrific as our house is, it would be even more terrificker if we could, well. Ok, I’ll just say it. Could we get a little of the poop from here and take it home?

They’re very possessive about the stuff. Why they couldn’t spare some when they’ve got fields of the stuff is beyond me, but we’ll have to put our head together about how to get it. You should have heard the kerfluffle when they found me rolling in a mound of fresh bovine excrement.

“Grandma’s dog has crap for brains,” one of them said, but the tone did not indicate a compliment. How does that work? I mean, crap? I love the stuff. In my brain or anywhere else. Unfortunately, I had to settle for my neck, under my ears, and on my back. At least I managed to get it properly massaged in, down through all that gorgeous long hair you love so much, right on through to my skin. (Why do people use oatmeal on their skin? Moist cow plop is a hundred times better.)

The woman was on her way out the door when I found that most perfect eau de manure. At least I had the hour to let it set while she went to pick up the kids. After that it was no nonsense, time for a bath, and lah ti dah.

Only it wasn’t like home. No clucking and sweet talk. Actually, I felt pretty exposed. They do baths here outside. The water was warm enough, the day was fine, but you know what I look like when I’m sopping wet. I look naked. And I felt naked dripping out there for everybody and his dog to see straight through to my bare skin.

Luckily a breeze came up and she took me in to dry off.  My collar benefited from the massage as well, but they were bitter about losing one little square foot patch of dung, so they took it away. For most  everything, home is better, but for smells (and teensy, weensy little tastes) well, mother, there they’ve got us beat from here to Pluto and back. I hope you can find a way to bring some of it home for me. Maybe my birthday? The more kinds the better.

Your loving, long haired, shitzhu, lapdog,  Jasmine.

p.s. I’m watched like a hawk now, so no time for rolling. My taste testing tour has been slowed down, but I’m determined to finish. So far, either sheep or horse is the best (for eating) but I’ve still got a few more kinds to try. Cat is interesting too.

p.s.s. Birthday FYI: Best rolling= WET. Best eating = dry.

XOXOXO

4 Comments to Letter from the Shitzoo

  1. dad says:

    ain’t it fun!!!? And they do love it!

  2. Rachel Bushnell says:

    My Dearest Jasmine,

    I miss you, too. I even dreamed about you one night.
    Please thank Aunt Michelle for sending your letter.
    I saw a little shitzu today who was white and she reminded me of you.

    What fun you are having on the farm!
    I will have to do some thinking about your birthday presents, we have lots of time to decide before that (for you to forget about the country tastes.)

    Mommy

    Michelle,
    Many apologies for my not refining her tastes better before I let her go visiting the relatives.

  3. Barb says:

    Too hilariously true!

  4. Marilyn says:

    Ahh “poopcicles” Gourmet tastes!