A Copywriter’s Blog
Poop, the other dark chocolate

I have been dog-sitting my dog-in-law for the last week and a half. Since the wife and I can’t afford a dog of our own right now, we’re quite happy to watch “Libby”. She’s a beagle, an excellent canine archetype. And since she’s 11, she’s far too old to be poorly behaved. There’s only one problem.

This dog eats poop.

This 11 yr old, arthritic, shit-hunting hound will drag me 2 blocks in search of scat. It’s like a delicacy to her. No doubt in that peach-pit sized dog brain there’s an entire registry of colors and consistencies of various defecation. “Hmmm…almondy, with a texture not unlike a whipped mouse… aged perhaps two days, and… yes I detect a hint of IAMs.”

At least, that’s what I assume she’s telling me every time she woof’s when I drag her away from some “after dinner” delight.

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