Friday, May 28, 2010

Bacon Grass - The New Dog Treat

I spent my whole day learning how to smoke pork butt with my Uncle Bull. For the occasion, my parents had been going to rent a smoker, but when confronted with the allure of black cylindrical fire pits, they broke down and just bought one. Now, they are leaving for their summer RV adventure next week (or so) so I can pretty much tell you how my summer is going to go. My husband will never not smell like smoke and that's all I'm going to say about it for now. I'm predicting that he will try to smoke everything. We'll have smoked Cheetos, smoked candied nuts, smoked pasta, smoked pineapple and possibly even smoked lizards.

But at least I know how to smoke a pork butt now. Isn't that something every woman ought to be able to do? I mean, I can't make a bed properly. Hospital corners elude me, but at least I can say that while many domestic tasks aren't my strong suits, that I can smoke a hunk of pig.

Step 1 - make sure the beer's cold. That's the first thing I learned, except in this case the beer is root.

We made a fire, got the coals right, soaked the wood chips and dry rubbed the raw meat. It was quite elaborate. Then we pretty much put the meat in the smoker, closed the lid and went in the house to BS and cuss for the rest of the day while looking at old pictures.

During this time my parents went to Costco to get supplies for the BBQ Fundraiser we're having tomorrow to support wounded troops at Walter Reed Hospital. I stayed my lazy, pregnant ass home because of course I had to oversee the smoker.

Well, by and by I noticed that the big dog was asleep on the kitchen floor but that the famous Bombaclaat was nowhere to be found, which is highly unusual.

Bombaclaat, the aged mini-pin, has been through a considerable rough spell. To begin with, he is probably equal to about 117 people years. He's a mess. About six weeks ago he got really sick. He already takes a pharmacy of medications for his various ailments, but nothing was working. He started attacking people more than usual (meaning he even attacked us now) and he wouldn't get out of bed. Turned out he had a bad infection in his paw which had spread into his bone and blood and it was making him feel miserable. Most of the paw had to be amputated. He wore a cast and it took about a month to heal and in the past two weeks it's like Bombaclaat is a new dog. It's like he's found the canine fountain of youth. Suddenly he's full of vitality, playing, eating and having a good time.

But he still wasn't having such a good time that he'd go missing. I looked all over the house and he wasn't in the usual places, so I went outside eventually and found Bombaclaat manning the smoker, by which I mean he was furiously and frantically licking the grass under the smoker while hot grease dripped on his head. Bombaclaat had sunk to a new all time low.

This dog has had an eating disorder for as long as he's been alive. We're convinced that he could eat us all under the table. He's like a piranha when confronted with anything edible, and to him, edible has a very broad definition. Cat turds are an exquisite delicacy in his world. This dog though, if left to his own devices, would do nothing but eat. Once he connived his way on to a guest's lap, just so he could jump on the table and eat a whole pumpkin pie in seconds flat before someone noticed. Another time he stood in front of our groceries and growled at us when we tried to put them away. He has intimidated the other dog, who is ten times his size, so that they can't eat together. The big dog is terrified of him. He turns into a raving maniac when there is food to be had.

Earlier, we had shuffled the pork butts around and had inadvertently spilled a bunch of hot pork fat in the grass and all down the side of the smoker. A lot of it was still dripping off the sides and it was blistering hot. Did this dog care? Of course not. He had found flavored grass. Greasy, smoky, pork flavored grass. It was heaven and he was bound and determined to lick every morsel of flavor from every last blade of grass. I mean, regular grass is pretty good as is. He eats grass all the time. But this...this was Bacon Grass. Bombaclaat, I could tell, wondered how on earth he got so lucky when the other dog didn't even have a clue this wonderful treat was outside in the yard. The Bacon Grass was all his and he wasn't going to miss any of it.

I tried to chase him away from the smoker, but he tried to attack me. When it started to rain, his licking only became more frantic. He licked in a panic and then began to rip clumps of grass out of the ground before the rain could dilute the delicious pigginess of it all. I had to put a stop to it. I made him come inside at that point.

You should have seen that dog's head. It was pure fat. Bombaclaat looked like a 50s greaser or better yet, like he had one of those gelled to hell, Jersey Shore blowouts. And once I got him back in the house, he sat and licked all the taste off of his paws, silently cursing me, I'm certain.

By then my parents had gotten home from Costco and my mother attempted to clean him off, but plain water wouldn't cut through it. She had to use Joy soap like he was one of those poor animals caught in the Gulf oil spill and he was just livid the whole time because he liked smelling like Bacon. Smoky lard is like the finest cologne to dogs. That smell, to them, is even better than the exotic raccoon poop both of the dogs have been rolling in for the past week. Well actually, now that I think of it, hickory smoked pork butt is even better smelling than raccoon poop to people too, but you know what I'm trying to say here. Bombaclaat didn't want to smell like a clean pile of lemon scented dishes. He wanted to bathe in grease and he was so mad that my mother cleaned him off, that when no one was looking, that crazy dog tore open a trash bag from when I had cleaned out the fridge and attempted to climb completely inside it. I am not joking. The dog wanted to immerse himself in expired condiments and rotten produce.

Well, at least he's feeling better, right?


Melissa said...

That much fat in a dog the size of a minpin can kick off a wicked case of pancreatitus. Keep an eye on his for a couple of days -- it can get serious fast.

Otherwise, LOVE your blog. Definitely a must-read for me.

Lisa said...

Are you sure he isn't part Labrador? Labs will endure anything for a bit of food. One of our dogs Sandy would stand on top of the still sizzling hot plate of the barbeque and lick the damn thing clean. How she didn't burn herself I'll never know.

Vic said...

I didn't realize how much I had missed the Bombaclaat chronicles until he was featured again today.
Please keep us updated on your parent's adventures this summer. I realize you have a lot going on, to say the least, but they always make for a great story.
By chance, were those Miller Lite cans I spied in the trash? If so, my love for Uncle Bull has only grown.

ElectricDaisy said...

WL, only you could make this story so absolutely hilarious.

My roomies have two dogs and we have to keep the trash and recycling up on the counter (luckily our kitchen has a spare counter that's kind of out of the way) - if you put the trash bin on the floor for a SECOND, you're going to spend the next 5 minutes cleaning up disgusting trash all around the house. Sigh. I can't wait until I move out and it's just my clean cat and me.

maybe later said...

For some reason the image of Bombaclaat licking the grass and getting more frantic when it started to rain caused me to start laughing uncontrollably for several minutes and I have never come closer to peeing myself in my entire adult life. I really enjoyed this post, as well as the pictures to go along with it!
Also, I've read that because cats consume such a high-protein diet, dogs can't help but be attracted to their poo, which are like luscious little truffles to them. I once came home to find my puppy had dug out the entire litter box and left all the loose litter and pee clumps discarded on the floor, but there wasn't even one crumb of a poo to be found...

kerry said...

Silly dog. :)

Frack It said...

It's really great that you guys are giving the money directly to the soldiers. It wouldn't do as much good to give it to the medical center since it's closing.

booda baby said...

I can NOT help myself; I love it best when a dog gets pig like. Which of us hasn't known the dog that will execute a plan equal in brilliance to any great resistance movement - just to snatch a filet mignon off the grill. I suffer from too much anthropomorphizing, so don't mind being reminded that, in the end, it's a dog.

Go, Bombaclaat, go!!

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