The Mighty Quinn was biting at his foot. Now what could be the problem?? Well, let me back up a bit. You see, the Mighty Quinn is a herding dog. Therefore, he chases things. He used to chase goats, but our blessed little Peanut (the goat, not the nut) took care of that early on. So now, the Mighty Quinn confines his skills to the herding of things like Frisbees, balls, squirrels, the goatmother, and yes, poop. Oh, my. Does that seem to put the goatmother into the same category with the poop? Well, O.O.P.S. Forgive me all to hay. I never intended for that to happen.
Anyway, the goatmother has taken to 'being civilized', as she calls it. This means that often, in the late afternoon, tea will be served on the front deck. I believe she is a frustrated anglophile, but what do I know? I'm just an AMERICAN goat. But, the Mighty Quinn always sees this as the perfect opportunity. You see the goatfather is still, and not doing ANYTHING else. That means he is quite available for throwing things. The only other time this might occur is when the goatfather is on the toilette, but surely even the Mighty Quinn wouldn't be tasteless enough to take advantage of that.
So, often in the afternoon, the goatmother and the goatfather act civilized, having tea and whatnot, the Cabrarator stalks any squirrels who dare to venture down the birch trees, and the Mighty Quinn chases the Frisbee. Of course this is very hard work because, let's face it, those Frisbees are tricksy. So after awhile, with tongue hanging almost to the ground, the Mighty Quinn takes a rest under the huge Grand Fir tree in the front yard. BIG MISTAKE. Why, you ask? That would be because fir trees exude a sticky resin that people call 'pitch'. It smells very aromatic and 'piney', but let me tell you, if you get that stuff in your fur, well, your kinda' up the proverbial Peanut creek without a digger-inverter. (No kidding. Just look up about how they harvest Peanuts if you don't believe me!)
So, this morning the goatmother happened to notice that the Mighty Quinn was licking excessively at one of his hind feet. Lo and baahold!, the Mighty Quinn had a massive amount of fir pitch embedded between the pads of his foot and even a stick! Ouch. The goatmother tried, in vain, to clip it out, but it was so very close to the skin that she was having a terrible time - even after enlisting the help of the goatfather. After much struggling, some VERY careful clipping, and some colorful language thrown in for effect, the goatmother finally called the vet's office. Would you believe they were not only familiar with the problem (this is the Pacific Northwest, after all), but they had a solution!? The lady told the goatmother if she would rub shortening into the pitch, it would dissolve and loosen. Skeptical, the goatmother tried it, and Wow! It actually WORKED!!!! A miracle of miracles! If the pitch had stayed as it was, it would have eventually tightened enough to tear the Mighty Quinn's flesh. However, the shortening, made (pardon the pun) short work of the situation.
So, my friends, if you have someone who gets into any kind of sticky pitch (DISCLAIMER - 'sticky' applies ONLY to actual physical situations, and not those merely construed to be 'sticky'.) - pine, fir, or what have you, remember this little remedy. You won't be sorry. It probably even works on goats!
"For every mountain there is a miracle." - Robert H. Schuller. Even if it is a mountain of pitch!