The award for all-time best licking problem obviously has to go to Charles. But Charles only ever seemed to lick ghosts, air, drafts or whatever. You never see him licking the sweet Christ out of his owners in the famous video. You never see him licking the floor, furniture, light fixtures or anything else that might cause some sort of domestic offense – just his own damn self. No harm, no foul, no rash on the back of your hand.
On the other hand, my Boston Terriers Shepherd, Rhubarb and Pixie will lick anything that isn’t nailed down. Let me rephrase that – they’ll lick absolutely anything. And they won’t stop. Ever. Until Sarah Connor is dead. Obviously they aren’t Terminators, but if someone were to suggest that possibility to me I’d seriously consider it – because it makes no less sense than watching Shepherd do nothing but tongue a couch cushion for the lion’s share of an afternoon.
Pixie and Shep have a licking problem.
I knew there was a problem, or at least a trend, when I started sitting down on furniture – my bed even – and finding myself smack dab in wet spots. And not the fun kind. They are not large animals so the time, concentration and saliva required to soak half of a comforter is considerable. Spellbinding, even. But don’t take my word for it. See the little weirdos in action for yourself above. And for the love of God, will one of my old Vermont Academy friends please send me a box of salt licks, stat!
I have that song on my iPod.
My dog used to root through the laundry and find and chew up my underwear. No one else’s, just mine. Incidentally the mice we had at one of my Southie apartments also did this, but again, they did not get into my roommate’s laundry, just mine. It was weird.
That`s what happens when your undergarments smell like stale Chuckwagon, I guess.
True that. I really have to stop doing my laundry with meat-scented detergent. Dogs follow me everywhere. And hobos.