Well, I just learned one of the hazards associated with having a dog around the house. No, it's not the one you're probably thinking of, either. You know...walking barefoot in the back yard, like you used to do. Something not quite so bad, but bad nonetheless.
As a guy, we're used to eating things off of the floor. You may have heard of the so-called "five-second rule." Any food that drops on the floor is still good if it's not been there longer than five seconds. This rule is modified, of course, depending on the floor upon which the food falls. I mean, you wouldn't have a five-second rule if you dropped a piece of popcorn at the movie theater. That's assuming that you could even get it unglued from the sticky residue of spilled sodas and dissolved ju-ju beads, which, according to the Discovery Channel's "When We Left Earth," was what they used to fix Apollo 13 and get it safely back to earth. Back in high school, my friend Jon F. ate a half eaten ice cream sandwich he found in a trash can at Six Flags. That was a flagrant violation of the rule, with its own consequences (that he discovered about an hour and a half into the three hour ride home).
Anyhow, I was just eating some kettle corn, and dropped a piece on the floor under my desk. Automatically, responding to sheer guy-instinct, I reached down, and popped it back into my mouth. Along with a small handful of Oji's hair. Mmmmm. At least we gave him a bath about a week ago.
I'm still a guy, and will still eat things off of the floor; someday, I'll even teach my child how to do the same. I will, though, be more observant and careful not to eat anything other than what I dropped.