Eat Me

“You ever think what a coincidence it is that Lou Gehrig died of Lou Gehrig's disease?”

- Christopher Moltisanti

The Sopranos           

            I read that a Downriver man was grateful his dog ate most of his toe while he was passed out drunk. Maybe he was thankful because he got to save on dog food that day. A human toe can be a good source of protein for an animal.

            The article continued that the man was grateful for the dog’s action because it helped uncover an undiagnosed diabetic condition and led to treatment that could save his life. Doctors found an unknown bone infection, and they amputated the rest of the man’s toe.

            The same thing happened to me. I was drinking a pitcher of margaritas to dull the pain of arthritis in my thumb. After about four tumblers, while splayed in the La-Z-Boy, I had an idea -- let’s me and Vito end this thumb pain forever. What the heck.

            “Vito,” I slurred, “Come over and eat this finger hangin’ off the side of my hand.”           

            Really, though, I don’t want Vito to diagnose any of my medical conditions. Every time I read one of those stories about trained dogs that sniff out cancer tumors in places like the prostrate, breast or lung, it makes me nervous.

            Vito is not big on respecting personal boundaries in the first place, and if it were up to him he’d spend about a quarter of his day with his nose jammed into a human body part.  I forbid this -- for several reasons –  because it freaks me out to think he would know more about my health status than I would know. What if he smelled an undiagnosed brain problem? How would he communicate this important information?

            Perhaps he could eat part of my head, which would certainly warrant a trip to the hospital, and lead to a diagnosis, I guess.