Sacramento's most blogged dog, Volume 12

Part of having a dog (and I imagine that this also goes along with having kids to some extent) is that you have to handle some pretty gross shit. This dog has at one time or another gotten all matter of fluid and solid that her little body generates, on me or my clothes. So whenever it is that I have a baby, let's just say that I'm not going to be as freaked out. The dog is the baby training wheels. If I can keep her alive, I can raise a kid. Probably.

So here I am on Sunday at some pet store. I think I really only stopped in because I had the dog with me. Most places don't allow dogs inside but all pet stores do, so I can't really pass one up if I have the dog with me. It's just not fair to her and I'm in the practice of making sure her life is a constant state of surprise and delight. This is probably because I fail to be surprised or delighted with much myself.

Now, most pet stores sell gross things as dog treats because dogs like to ingest some foul things. You usually see your basics: freeze-dried beef liver, stuffed femur bones, dried pig ears, dried pig snout, some kind of hooves (stuffed and non) and the grossest of the gross. Dried bull wieners. They're sometimes called bully sticks, or steer pizzle and come in a variety of lengths, from believable to alarming. Heylove loves these things, but they creep Leon out so I don't get them too often. So after walking all around the pet store letting Heylove vaccum up all the errant kibbles, I decided that she wanted to try the stuffed hooves. I picked out the one stuffed with peanut butter, because the cheese and "meat" one looked far too gross.


I opened it for her and let her go to town.



And to town she went.




The smell of this giant toe nail stuffed with peanut butter was horrible.

Now before you start to think that the only thing I ever do is write about dogs, cook food and eat, let me just say that well, you're mostly right. This weekend was not much different. Friday night I stayed in and made soup. Saturday I went to a wedding for an old co-worker. I cried a couple of times and then I tripped over a bench. I now have two gnarly knee bruises to show for it. Sunday, not satisfied with the level of personal injury commited this weekend, I burned my hand by grabbing the handle of a sautee pan that just came out of the oven (heat is hot!) and then I took doglet walking all over Discovery park. After all this, I still feel like I didn't get enough time to relax and decompress.

I am pretty sure I'm eating at Spataro tonight. This will be visit #2. I'll write a review after the third visit. Besides, having just read "Eating My Words" by former NY Times food critic, Mimi Sheraton, that's what you do. Go at least three times and then write the review. I'm not going to even bother with Ma Jong's. What I ate there sucked so bad, I'm not planning on going back 2 more times.