Sometimes, slurp, it is really difficult, slurp, to get the last bits, slurp, left in the pan. Especially when it has lots of funny wavy lumps on it...If you click on the photo you will see the frighteningly efficient way that Porridge's tongue momentarily adopts the same shape as the ridges. Could this be a dog especially evolved to deal with corrugated pans, or have we finally irrefutable proof of a divine creator?
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Organic dishwasher; eco-vacuum cleaner; I knew there had to be some benefits for NOT putting Sky outside in a kennel (my original stoooooopid plan for a dog).
I expect you escape the major indoor disadvantage with golden retrievers...the daily carpeting of every surface with thick creamy white dog hair...
Dog tongues designed to get between the ribs of dead elk and wildebeest and the like, works just as well with this.
Then a good scouring with sand and bracken should finish the job - time to get medieval on your grill-pan!
Seem to think I owe you an e-mail, we might even manage a walk one day...
a wildebeast would probably be a bit scary for us, even a dead one, but we are very fond of crunchy grill pans and seem to have retained the skill to deal with them ...
as for walkies, yes the terrible onslaught of student xmas concerts will be over this week, and then Porridge and I will be entirely at your disposition to walk off the calorie content of too many mince pies...
Doggy joy, crevices for a tongue to explore.
Chuckle chuckle…very funny. I think you’ll find it’s got more to do with the evolved ‘food to mouth’ delivery system of doggo’s in general. Their tongue skills are pretty impressive aren’t they. I think us humanoiks are just envious that we’ve only progressed as far as the old fingers and thumbs method.
That said, women seem to be pretty good at tongue sculpturing an ice cream cornet to extinction on a sunny afternoon. I was watching my wife and daughter innocently tongue carve and twirl their way with great grace and elegance through a couple of ‘99’s with a flake’ recently, as they sat on a park bench reading girly mags at the same time. After a couple of minutes gazing admiringly at them both, I returned my attention to my own ’99 special’ and promptly stuck it straight in my nose. The choccy flake went in my eye, my head shot back reflexively, and I dropped the lot in my lap.
My tongue never even got a slurp, and my right eye wept brown choccy mascara the rest of the afternoon. One of the many pitfalls of being a ‘mere man’ see.
Say a big ‘woof’ to Porridge for me. Lovely name for a dog by the way. Ho hum.
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