Puppy walking

An adventure in looking after a puppy until it is old enough to be properly trained as a guide dog for the blind.

Friday, July 21, 2006

The other day, Peter called to me from the downstairs powder room and said, "there are rocks in the toilet!" I followed him in there and he pointed into the bowl. "You can't see them all the time but after you flush, they sometimes creep out." I look and see a few pebbles where the pipe disappears into the recesses of the commode. "Well," I say, "stick your hand in there and fish them out." "No way!" "Yes way! I keep the toilet clean. Those rocks just aren't getting past the trap."

After some discussion where he didn't even want me to put my hand in there, I go get a couple of paper towels and start fishing out rocks. These are pieces of gravel about 1/2 inch or more in diameter. They have obviously been digested by Rockwell and then, due to their weight, not been able to make it past the trap in the toilet. I end up pulling out almost a cup full of the things. I'm guessing that Rockwell has not necessarily been on a recent rock-eating spree but that they have been accumulating quietly all year and we've only just noticed them now. It was however, an impressive haul of rocks.
The giant doily gives it some class, don't you think?


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