This morning, our new dog, Mya Kai, wasn’t feeling too well. And it didn’t take me too long to figure out why:
Turns out I’m not the only one who likes Bagel Oasis bagels. She ate three: two plain and a cinnamon raisin. What can I say? Our dogs take after my side of the family: the Jewish side. Our dearly departed Husky/Border Collie mix, the other Maia, loved lox — an affliction that she obviously got from me:
By the way. In case you were wondering: We’re not half as dog-crazy as my mother, whose friends just threw her a “baby shower” for her toy Yorkie, my son’s new “uncle” — Hymie Yankel. (I kid you not, and don’t get me started.) As much as we loved Maia Wolfe, we didn’t name our new dog after her: Mya was a pound dog. The name was a coinkydink.
We did, however, provide her with a middle name — Kai — just to make certain we knew who we were talking about when we said “Mya.” As everyone knows, middle names come in handy when your children — and your dogs — misbehave. Which Mya Kai, who’s only two, has been doing since we brought her home (despite the fact that she’s now a proud graduate of Petco’s Canine Education program):
Mya Kai’s a very smart dog, though, and at 17 pounds, the smallest we’ve ever had. She’s got “sit” and “stay” down but hasn’t quite mastered “Don’t eat three bagels, or you’ll be sorry later!” And she’s a heck of a lot smarter than our other dearly departed family member, the mighty Fig, once a 92-pound racer, who took his retirement very seriously. He was an inveterate couch-potato and gets our vote for the World’s Dumbest Adopted Greyhound. Yes, he was sweet, but what a numbskull!
How dumb was he? Well, among the things he ate were VCR cassettes, a camera, and a brand new pair of Doc Martens (the shoes I can understand, seeing as they looked like an $80 rawhide). But the story we tell the most is this one: On one of his many counter-surfing expeditions Fig (racing name Fig’s Preston) found a plastic bagful of chocolate-covered raisins. He chewed the bag, but left the raisins. Hmmm. Maybe he was smarter than we gave him credit for.
Fig went over the “Rainbow Bridge” after living with us for nine years. We figured it was a bridge too far, so while his spirit is chasing rabbits through fields of clover, his remains sit on a bookshelf, plastered with a great New Yorker cartoon I found shortly after his death. In it, Saint Peter says something we (unfortunately) never told Fig — “But stay off the couch”:
Anyway, Mya Kai’s behind me in the corner, sleeping off her bagel overdose:
And I’m sitting here at my desk feeling her pain and wondering: What’s the worst thing your pet ever ate?