Crazy Frenchmen

So, I'm in the back room, ironing, minding my own business, when I look out into the yard and see Abner.  He is not taking a nap or engaging in his favorite past time of chasing dragonfly shadows; he is foaming at the mouth, profusely, 24 gallons of yellowish foam are taking over his body like the blob.

I run outside in a panic.  All I can think of is that he is choking to death or perhaps has been bitten by a rabid animal and is now himself a rabid foaming Cujo.   Just when I am imaging  myself locked in the car for 2 days with Danny Pintauro I realize what is causing the foaming.  He is masticating a snail.  Not chewing, that is far too polite a word for what he was doing, he was masticating this poor slimy snail to death.

Without thinking I perform "the sweep" wherein I pry open his mouth and use my other hand to clear out its contents.  I immediately regret my decision, as I typically do when sweeping out his mouth, because now my hand is covered in masticated snail bits and yellow foam.  Better than when it was covered in cat shit, but still incredibly gag worthy.

Now Abner, I know you are French, and escargot is a delicacy, but can we arrange for you to pull this kind of stunt when you are hanging out with your father?  I'm kind of tired of the heart attacks and filth, plus he would be so much more fun.  He'd actually vomit if he had snail bits on his hands.  Just saying.


In the words of Charlie Brown..."Why can't my dog just be NORMAL?"