Our dog Bill has been on a mission to catch the squirrels in our back yard and one day, he finally caught one. He had no idea what to do with it so he just whipped his head back and forth like he does to his chew toys. Leftrightleftrightleftright. Joe started screaming like a shrew to "drop it drop it drop it!" over and over, face turning red, freaking out in freakville.
Bill was baffled at Joe's reaction to of course, he trots to the door, squirrel still in his mouth. Joe screaming, Bill's butt waggling, squirrel sqirrelling. I looked over Joe's shoulder and said, "Bill, want a cookie?" Of course, he dropped the little creature on the ground and raced to the back door, thoughts of Beggin' Strips dancing in his head.
The squirrel, very much intact, wobbled away. If we lived in Toontown, you'd see little stars and wiggly lines around the little sucker's head. He was fine.
Joe grabbed Bill and started reaching into his mouth, hand practically down his throat. Bill gagging, Joe screaching "I think he has the rabies! He has the rabies I swear! He's foaming!"
With a sigh, I said, "He's drooling you idiot. He wants his cookie. Get your hand out of his mouth, he's fine."
Eyes bulging, still clutching Bill in his meaty hands, "You sure? He doesn't have the rabies? Positive?"
"Yes Joe. And if he has rabies, it won't show up instaneously. Plus, if it does show up, you'll now probably get it since you stuck your hand down his throat."
"WHATWHATWHATWHAT?!" he bellowed as he ran to the bathroom to wash his hands, rub in some hand sanitizer and douse himself in every cleaning implement we had in the house. All the while, muttering "the rabies" to himself.
Bill caught his first and last squirrel and got a Beggin' Strip.
Joe, the hypochondriac, spent the next day checking his temperature and watching the dog to see if he started foaming.
The squirrel won.