By Allison Heather
Last Sunday I was witness to the biggest crock of shit I’ve ever seen. Was I surprised? Not really.
I took my dog Patch to visit and animal psychic named Dr. Helen Massingil at the Psychic Mystics and Seers Fair. Her readings proved to be cheesier than the feminine hygiene product that bore her name in the ‘80s.
There were only seven dogs there but many people brought photographs of their furry companions for Dr. Massengil to examine and discuss. Talk about talent — the women didn’t even need a picture of your pet. All the pseudo-doctor needed was the name, age and breed of pet to conjure up many non-linear, psychic channels to the four-legged friends who were napping at home.
When it was my turn, I asked her why my dog has a fetish for licking feet. He does. Really. Come over barefoot one day and you can see for yourself. She told me when he was a puppy he probably developed a love for feet. When I paused to wait for an answer, (like, does it get him off? Does he like the taste? Is it a symbol of love and devotion to his owner? Does he pretend it’s a big, juicy steak?) she rambled on, spewing out more poignantly insightful observations.
Gazing thoughtfully at my Jack Russell terrier, she said, “He’s not a quiet one, is he?”
Patch is a Jack Russell Terrier. What do you think lady? (For those of you in the dark, Jack Russells are notorious for hyperactivity, yapping and jumping up and down like Kriss Kross).
“He’s jumpy isn’t he? He jumps up a lot. Mmm…yes.”
At this point I thanked God I didn’t have to pay for that load of fecal matter because I was with the press.
“He’s prone to getting lonely. Be sure when you go out to leave a radio or television on for him,” she said.
Look, Dr. Massengil, if you were the size of a breadbox, had paws for hands and your only source of entertainment were rubber toys and leg humping, you’d be lonely too. Don’t all dogs look like they’re about to burst with glee when their owners come home?
After that, it was time to click out paws three times and get the hell away from pretentious Dr. Douche. She left me feeling about as fresh as Patch’s breath after a foot-licking session.