During college, my dog, Arfer Woodruff, had a bad habit of eating everything he could get his chops on. One morning, after a late night of college binge drinking, I rolled over to be met by Arfer's tongue kisses. I grabbed Arfer and his leash and we headed downstairs to Beacon Street in the heart of Boston, two blocks from Fenway. When we got down to Beacon, we were met with thousands of families heading to see a Sunday afternoon game. Arfer immediately went about his business. I tried to give Arfer his privacy by turning away, but this did little good with people all over.
Since Arfer was taking longer than usual, I turned to see if he was okay. He wasn't -- something was.... Um, stuck. So I tried to get a little closer to see what the problem was. It seemed that he ate something that had a string on it. So I took the plastic bag and pulled on the string. Now Arfer and I were in a tug-of-war between me and his butt. Finally, I removed the obstruction -- a tampon --and only about a thousand people, mostly little kids, saw this. I'm still not sure who was the most traumatized. From that day on, I made sure my female roommates kept the bathroom door shut.
what can i say, i know how to please a crowd
