Post #482 Toxic Green Apple Drink

June 20, 2016 at 6:37 PM | Posted in Uncategorized | Comments Off on Post #482 Toxic Green Apple Drink

Dunkin Donuts opened up next to our store a few months ago.  For me, it’s no big deal.  Many of my colleagues have taken to it like gang busters.  They like the coffee and they like the donuts.  But since the weather warmed up, everyone has been drinking an ice slushy style of drink called a coolata.  They come in various flavors and the corresponding day-glo colors.  I’m not kidding, these things would light up under a blacklight.


Like I said, the people at work love these things.  I haven’t tried them, but I’m reasonably certain they’re pretty good.  On a hot day, what’s not to love about fruit flavors and ice?

The first time I saw one, I was on break and sitting outside.  One of my colleagues walked over with the green one.  It was so distinctive and so unusual, and so green, I had to ask.

“What in the flying freak is that?!”

He laughed.  “It’s a sour apple coolata.  Want a taste?  It’s really good.”

I declined.  But last night, I was talking to another colleague and she had the blue one.  I told her about the green one, saying it reminded me of something I couldn’t quite place my brain-finger on.

Then I had it and told her about it:

Years ago, my ex-wife and I lost our cocker spaniel, Shasta, to old age.  It took some time but we were finally ready to get another dog and decided to adopt another rescued animal.  We went to the web page for the cocker spaniel rescue society for cockers in Virginia where we were living at the time.  (Big Shout Out to Oldies But Goodies Cocker Spaniel Rescue.  Yay you guys!!)

We wanted to be responsible doggy parents so we went nuts getting all the right things for our new dog, Sporty, who looked amazingly like the one we’d lost.  One of the things we got, a chew toy, was about the size of a small skillet, made of vegetable material instead of pig’s ears, and was dyed green.

So there we sat like a happy domestic family.  I had a glass of wine; she had a bloody mary; the dog had his treat.  The radio was on some light music; it was a late spring Saturday afternoon.  All was right with the world.  Even dinner plans were just right.

I glanced down at the new dog and exploded with cuss words.

“Where the heck is the chew toy?” I finally asked.

In just a few minutes, he had eaten the entire thing, including the crumbs.  It was an omen for things to come in later years, but we didn’t know it then.  He was a garbage gut.  He ate everything.  I watched him do it.  We chuckled and thought no more about it except to laugh about it occasionally.

The next morning, still feeling like virtuous responsible doggy parents, we decided to take him for a long walk at a nearby park.  We had a brand new leash, a brand new harness, and a brand new dog.  We even had a pocket full of doggy bags in case he had an accident on the pathway.  We were walking six feet off the ground, pride and happiness filling our souls.  Sporty was having a great time sniffing every tree, every bush, every blade of grass.  The few people we met along the path “oohed” and “aahhed” in just the right proportions.  Our smiles would have lit the forest at midnight.

The Sporty squatted to poop.  He was off the path, not quite into the woods, but near enough so we didn’t take out the doggy bags.  Then some toxic green sludge that looked like it was the by product from a nuclear plant came out of his butt.  And we freaked!

“What is that shit?” I asked no one in particular, not unaware of the pun

“What happened?” she asked.  “Is he sick?”

My mind was already thinking about the Sunday vet, their hours, and their hourly cost.  I was hastily racing through everything that had happened since 3 o’clock the previous day when we’d brought him home.

“It’s that chew toy!” I said with relief.  “Remember?  That vegetable one, it was green.”

“It wasn’t that color green.” she replied.

I shrugged.  “Who knows what happened to it inside his gut.  Let’s just not give those to him anymore.”

We walked on, happy to have figured it out and knowing that our dog wasn’t sick or nuclear toxic.  We had him for years after that and he ate his way through several pairs of my expensive cross trainers, multiple rolls of paper towels, and dozens of books and magazines.  And gaining weight along the way.  He was a great dog.

By the time I was done telling the story, we were both doubled over in laughter.

“And that toxic sludge,” I gasped, “Was the same color as that sour apple drink from the other day.”

It was, but I don’t think it was meant to.  Bet it still tasted good.


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