MONCH

Today, this cropped up in my facebook memories from four years ago:

TFW your dog finds a dead starling in someone’s garden in the village and eats it,
while you yell at her “DROP IT!” and she’s like,
noheckinway you starve me to DETH,
and you turn round at the sound of a window closing
to find the woman across the street has been watching.
Watching your ridiculous floofmonster munch a dead bird,
crunchy bones and feet all up between her shiny teeth,
a look on her face like she’s one meal away from treating humans as dinner.
That feeling.

Close-up of husky lying half asleep, nose to camera

She hasn’t eaten any starlings, dead or otherwise, in quite some time. Thankfully. And she’s getting a bit too long in the tooth for chasing rabbits, but that doesn’t stop her trying.

Bathtime chat

Starlings in the bath

“Do you think Hannibal uses TP or a bidet?”
“Excuse me?”
“He’s a serial killer, I know, ‘Don’t eat the rude’ and all that. But he’s, what, an aesthete, right?”
“I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Hannibal Lecter. I just can’t imagine Hannibal Lecter using toilet paper. I mean, what brand would he buy? I don’t think he’d be won over by puppies. Does Claire Fontaine make toilet paper?”
“Is this—”
“Seriously. What’s the most expensive toilet paper you can buy? Also, do you think eating people makes a difference to the consistency of your poop? I can always tell when I’ve been at the suet. It’s just greasier. Don’t you get that?”
“I don’t think—”
“I bet he can tell. I bet he can smell it. I bet if you went to dinner with him and he fed you one of the rude he’d get a sense of satisfaction from smelling it in your farts.”
“THIS IS NOT AN APPROPRIATE TOPIC OF CONVERSATION FOR OUR CHILD’S BATHTIME.”

Back to Top