Jake always comes to my side of the bed if he needs something in the middle of the night. Always. Even if I’m out of town hubby says Jake comes to my side of the bed and whacks the spot where I normally sleep.
I’m a light sleeper so I hear him coming every time. He walks up to me, sniffs at my face and then whacks the side of the bed with his big paw. He’s telling me he wants to go outside.
Last night I figured he’d want to go out at some point when hubby came to bed and mentioned Jake had finished his entire bowl of food – this is the dog who refuses to eat. Unfortunately he wanted to go out just after midnight. I had only fallen asleep maybe an hour before.
I hauled myself out of bed, flipped on a night light so I could see what was on the stairs (Jake is like a little kid, he loves to leave his balls on the stairs) and I opened the back door for him.
We have this thing, Jake and I, a process. I turn on the outside light and I leave the back door open. He comes in when he’s ready.
He has a routine. Run outside. Check the perimeter of the yard for intruders. Pee. Drink from the fountain. Recheck the perimeter for intruders. Stare at the corner of the fence where the raccoons like to hang out. Poop. Drink from the fountain. Check the perimeter one last time. Come inside. Then I shut the door. He’s convinced he has a job to do, which he does. I let him do it.
Hubby finds it all annoying and yells at him, which is probably why Jake wakes me up instead of him.
Anyway I let him out. I noticed he drank about a gallon of water from the fountain so I checked his water dish. It was almost empty. I picked up the water dish, which is pretty big, and headed to the kitchen sink (in the semi-dark) to fill it up. I flipped on the faucet and stepped forward with my bare feet right onto a giant banana slug which squished slime and goo all over my feet and between my toes. Oh my god it was gross!
I dropped the water dish and shrieked loud enough to wake the dead but apparently not loud enough to wake hubby. I hopped around with a banana slug stuck to my foot. Jake came running in to save me, but when he realized it was a banana slug he sniffed at it, curled his lip, and returned to his rounds.
It was so disgusting. I had to clean up the mess- the spilled water and the squished slug- and wash off my foot before I could go back to bed. Ewww.
Do you know people actually eat banana slugs? Kind of like escargot, which I refuse to eat because, well, blech. I don’t care how much garlic and butter you put on a snail, it’s still a snail.
Banana Slug Sushi – a recipe.
Yup… typical night at the Barrett’s.
Tom – when you and Ishbel come, beware of slimy banana slugs.
Oh, P.S…. A typical morning at the Barrett’s. My husband was eating a handful of nuts and he dropped a pistachio onto the floor. My philosophy is~ if it falls on the floor it’s a tribute to the Mighty Floor Gods. While I don’t mind a little dirt on occasion, I draw the line at pet hair. Or people hair which is a million times worse than pet hair. Or whatever gross stuff we all track in.
My husband’s philosophy is this – if it’s food he eats it, no matter where it’s been.
You know, I had this great aunt once who used to do that. She’d pick stuff off people’s plates – bones, gristle, fat, hair combs, lost teeth. She developed a bezoar. Believe me, you don’t want to know.
Anywho, my husband dropped a pistachio. Before I could stop him he reached down to pick it up and popped it in his mouth. He chomped down on it and got the funniest look on his face. Out of the blue he turned on his heel, ran to the sink, and spit it out… “It’s a piece of dog food,” he said.
Heheheheheheh! Still laughing! Damn good thing for him I squished that banana slug!