Is there anything like dog slurp? Thick enough to lube a car's engine, persistent enough to require muscular scrubbing, slippery enough to send someone (me) flying when that someone (me) doesn't see it on the tile and steps in it.
Our first dog, Barney, was a purebred black Lab with a square head and the jowls. Jowls are a a dog's warehouse, where slurp builds up to critical mass. I imagine when Angie Hunt's mastiffs shake, the slurp ends up on her ceiling! We used to try to fill Barney's dish out of his sight because he'd start drooling and leave a trail of slurp across the kitchen floor where someone (me) could take a header on it.
Like most labs, Barney always had to have a stick in his mouth. On snowy days, he'd go outside and play, tossing his stick in the air and catching it...coating it with slurp. It is absolutely no exaggeration to say that, by the end of his play time, a stick that had been one inch in diameter would be about six inches in diameter.
Five inches of frozen slurp is indeed a wonder of creation.
Tasha is a lady with a pointy nose and no jowls. She only slurps in her water dish and food dish. Every few days I hose them down with heavy detergent to de-slurp them. Poor Tasha has been deprived for the past three years. Our dishwasher has been broken and thus, she never ever gets to clean out the roasting pan or the rice pot. No way would I trust handwashing her slurp out of dishes we use. And that's too bad for her because she's skinny enough and old enough to be able to eat anything she wants.
Today Tasha is in dog bliss.
Steve finally found a schematic online for the dishwasher and fixed it. Tasha can eat the mashed potatoes out of the pot or gulp down my leftover spaghetti and we can de-slurp those dishes completely.
What we couldn't clean by hand, the dishwasher does with gusto.
Dog bliss, indeed.