See what happens when you combine dead skin, a bottom-less cyclist and a post-ride smoothie.
After a muddy trail run recently, I was taking a bath when I noticed some blisters were starting to pop and the dead skin was starting to pull away from my foot. Not wanting to bathe amongst floating particles of dead skin, I peeled the chunks off and set them on the side of the tub before returning to my soap and rubber duckies.
In the midst of the “rinse” portion of “lather-rinse-repeat,” my puppy, Daisy, nudged the bathroom door open with her cute little nose. Emerging from under the water with a giant splash, I shooed the dog back out into the hallway and went about shaving my legs.
That’s when I noticed the pile of dead skin had mysteriously disappeared. It didn’t splash back into the tub, and there was no sign of it on the floor.
And then I saw it: Daisy, in the doorway, with her tail wagging…and a long thread of dead skin hanging from her mouth.
Holy <bleep> y’all. My puppy has a taste for human flesh.
I saw something about this in a TV documentary once, where a cocker spaniel ate the big toe off her owner while the poor schmuck slept. Naturally, I e-mailed my veterinarian, which led to a very awkward conversation about death by miniature pinscher. Though my vet swears my dog is not thirsty for my blood, I’m still a little concerned. At the very least, I feel I should practice running without the use of my toes, just in case I’m forced to adapt one day. Given my tenuous relationship with animals, I think it’s just wise to cover my bases, you know?
This isn’t the first time Daisy’s behavior has been a little off. Just a few weeks ago, I finished a long bike ride and was ravenously hungry. Knowing that marinating in a sweaty pair of bike shorts would only lead to saddle sores and misery, I dropped trou and headed into the kitchen, bottomless, to make a quick recovery smoothie to drink in the shower. (Oh, like you don’t multitask in the nude?)
Daisy, being the overeager puppy she is, was barking incessantly at the whirring blender while leaping up at the counter.
“Shh, Daisy! Quiet!” I hissed. She continued barking while the other two dogs of the household, Doc and Moxie, sat patiently at the back door, tails wagging.
“Daisy! I said QUIET! Daisy, nooooooo!” I yelped as Daisy leapt up, knocking the blender over and sending blue smoothie goo everywhere.
“Aww, damn it!” I sighed. Daisy, covered in smoothie, wagged her tail and continued barking. “Ugh. Go outside while I clean this up.”
As I sopped up spilled smoothie in the kitchen, Daisy continued to bark loudly from the backyard. Though she could sometimes be a vocal dog, she had never been this annoying. Quickly, Doc and Moxie began to join in, creating a canine chorus loud enough to annoy even my most patient neighbors.
“YOU GUYS. STOP.” I whined, exasperated, as I threw away another soaked paper towel. As I looked out the back door, I realized why the dogs were barking.
Standing in our backyard was the gardener, who was graciously averting his eyes from the big sliding glass door. The very door framing me, in a messy ponytail, sweaty bike jersey, and no bottoms. On all fours. In a puddle of blue smoothie.
On the bright side, Daisy didn’t eat the gardener. So there’s that.
Though she’s certainly helped to expose me for the fool I am, I have to say Daisy’s still pretty darn cute. Plus, she’s really, really happy to see me when I come home from a long run. That alone is a good reason to love that schmoompy, flesh-eating face of hers.
But just in case, I’m going to keep the dog in the kitchen while I sleep.
And maybe start wearing pants.
About The Author:
Susan Lacke does 5Ks, Ironman Triathlons, and everything in between to justify her love for cupcakes (yes, she eats that many). In addition to writing for Competitor, she serves as Resident Triathlete for No Meat Athlete, a website dedicated to vegetarian endurance athletes. Susan lives and trains in Phoenix, Arizona with three animals: A labrador, a cattle dog, and a freakishly tall triathlete boyfriend. She claims to be of sound mind, though this has yet to be substantiated by a medical expert. Follow her on Twitter: @SusanLacke