November 23, 2005 ~ Bathroom Buffet
Wednesday.
I forgot my own Birthday on Monday. Morgan had to remind me. "Baby Brain" is in full effect. I find myself searching my memory for the simplest words. This is not exactly conducive to writing. In the absence of my words, an e-mail that Morgan wrote yesterday follows.
Folks ~
This evening Monty refused to urinate. This is a frequent occurrence—he is very finicky about when and where he piddles and often simply refuses to lift a leg and instead sits and looks at me with a thoughtful and somewhat troubled expression. So we left him confined to the bedroom--having learned my lesson already about how difficult it is to remove large quantities of fowl-smelling dog juice from a couch. Being careful, we arranged objects and closed closets and such so that he couldn't get himself into mischief, but all that was practically force of habit since Monty is always so good and hardly ever does anything but sleep like a great mound of potatoes.
Sometime after leaving, the furnace turned on and pushed open the bathroom door on a current of warm air. Monty, having been indoors all day and having had to endure Rose making faces at him through the window, was struck by the amazing scents that floated out to him and interrupted his dreaming. Lured by the scent of a bar of sandalwood soap, he discovered a world above the sink counter that was quite unlike his normal home (about 3 feet off the floor). Here were many curious scents and objects! Doing what any good Doo would do, he chose one object at a time to "explore."
We arrived home to find that he had eaten the bar of soap completely--leaving only the small wire drip dish on his bed (licked clean no less). I think he found the all-natural soybean oil, palm kernel oil, and rice bran oil delectable. He ate the dry introduction and original preface to the book Our Southern Highlanders--being kind enough to leave off his ruminative noshing before the preface to the revised edition. (I have not yet asked his opinion of the UofT editor's thoughts on the work and whether he thinks the academic tone clashed with the wholesome simplicity of the Appalachian Mountain people.) Perhaps then he changed to a somewhat different course and ate half of my comb. Next it was kind of a slow and half-hearted chew at The New Age Baby Name Book (I imagine he found it as distasteful and hard to digest as I did--perhaps finding the toilet water sweet by comparison). Then on to the tissue paper--pulling roll and plastic spring thinger alike to his bed and generally turning it to a cylinder of mush. And what meal would be complete without rounding it off with some palate-cleansing dessert? He ate the bristly end of our toothbrushes--chomping Melissa's into bits in his zeal. Such is the strange world of a Monty-Doo alone in the house with only a common bathroom to amuse himself and sate his appetite.
Later that evening, cooking Monty a "heart-healthy" serving of oatmeal in the hopes of counter-acting the effects of an entire bar of soap on his intestine, I am reminded of what a good idea the Kong toy really is. It will be months, I think, before Melissa and I are so thoughtless as to leave the great lumpy white one home alone without having a care for his unique mental and oral needs.
~ Morgan
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