Flintridge Funk

April 12, 2005

We walked the McDuff quite often. He was always quite keen to get out, and we used him as a rationale for getting whatever counted for "fresh" air in La Canada-Flintridge. 

One of the many ironies of La Canada-Flintridge was that all of its ritzy estates were saddled with ailing sceptic systems. It had never joined the municipal sewage system so every sprawling mansion had to be on sceptic and, without fail, one sceptic tank or another was always in need of some attention. The pungent odors of decomposing waste would waft over the oak hillsides and manicured lawns on hot summer days. Frequently, one would wake in the darker hours before dawn with invisible tendrils of funk tickling the nostrils. We called it the "O" for short; its root word being that classy French noun odeur— for Flintridge is a classy place.

I'm sure that all of this sweet scent was most appreciated by our dear McDuff, who took his greatest delight in rolling about in fresh cat poo at every opportunity.


Turner said...

I received and angry phone call from McDuff this evening (his mood was not aided by the fact that dialing is especially difficult with paw and requires much trial and error). The essence of his displeasure was your revelation to the world at large of his cat poo(h) problem. This has upset his standing with many of the babes in his neighbourhood - especially the shitzou down the street who he was hoping to invite to a tail-gate party. He would like you to explain to your readers that he has overcome his poo problem and sees cats now not as a source of nutrition but as nutrition itself.....grrrrrr.

Jeffrey T. Baker said...

Since when do dogs read blogs? Please inform McDuff that he has little need to worry— it is a known fact that my blog has little credibility and few readers.