The Starving Activist is the sometimes-home for words. AR Neal (that’s me) finds them, cultivates them, and leaves them here. Enjoy.

Woola Yarf and Me

It's just liverwurst...It's just liverwurst, I recited the mantra as I wiped the half-sheet of paper towel across the leather seat. The mantra worked fairly well until I hit a patch with stringy stomach juice.It was the culmination of a dog-trip.There was a dog; a perfectly funny-looking creature who appeared to be a great choice to complete our canine trifecta. He was a mixed Shar Pei with upright ears and all sorts of head wrinkles. We needed to take the other two four-legged children--two-year-old Sputnik and 11-month-old Woola--to meet him.The trip started out in its typical fashion: Sputnik spinning as she awaited her leash, Woola looking anxious about getting up in the truck; Sputnik jumping in like a gymnast, Woola getting his 70-pound butt lifted and shoved in.They enjoyed the ride and we arrived. After a bit of small talk, they brought out the pup; he was about Woola's age but much more timid. That did not bode well since we needed another calm spirit in the house. We could never ever EVER replace Pi, but we hoped that a nice and quiet one would help even out the neuroses of the other two.Woola tried to eat the pup and Sputnik spun like a top. The pup got out of his leash and took off running across the vast property. Once they got him back, our two still wanted to put their feet and faces all over him and he was not a wrestler. The people took him back in and commiserated with us about how sweet, but rough, our babies were. Thanks were given all round and we hustled them back into the car. 

I took a peek into the back and Woola was licking his lips; "Uh oh!" was all I managed before he yarfed all over the back seat.And I do mean all over.We got home and after getting them both inside, we went out to find the car beneath a giant, steamy pile of Woola yarf. I grabbed the last (partial) roll of paper towels from our bathroom--you know the ones that let you use a half-sheet instead of a full one--and girded my...everything. I opened the door and tried to understand from where it all had come. It had to be at least four days worth of food back there. I ripped off the first half-sheet and swabbed up the first puddle. As I completed the first stage on the left seat, I saw a fly the size of a 787 land on the other seat. That grossed me out moreso than the yarf. I removed to the right seat and began there; digging down into cup holders (the very ones from the photo above look much different when filled with yarf) and between seat cracks, I found the gray leather once again.I'm sure, as you eat your mid-day meal, you are wondering to what end I tell you this tail tale of...what's it now? Ah, yes. Woola yarf and me.There is no point, other than to share the experience.Epilogue: the pup we went to see was not "the one" but I certainly hope that any of you looking for a very handsome young man will click the photo below and either adopt him, his kennel-mates, or donate to the rescue.


Cave of Scribes #27: Initiation

Scribe's Cave Picture Prompt #26: Long and Winding