Coco's been chewing on a lot of straw over the past few days.
"Girl! You look like a regular country bumpkin! What's with all the chewin'?"
She shot me a wicked look, "Can it, woman! My nerves are shot to hell."
I asked what in the world she has to be so stressed about, and Coco divulged that she's been a closet smoker for the past six years. I was actually pretty impressed when she told me, because I've never smelled a single puff of smoke on her breath.
She broke down. "Jimmy over at the club told me quittin' would be a piece of cake, but that hypocrite smokes two racks a day!"
"Coco, I didn't realize you were struggling with cigarette addiction. I want to help you, my baby. Did you say racks?...don't you mean packs?"
She gave me a puzzled look, "Not cigarettes you goon, I smoke meats! Racks of ribs, sausage, bacon, whole pigs. Last night I soaked my paws in BBQ sauce just to get through the cravings."
I sighed, "So that's what those sticky paw prints are from."