Greatest Common Animal Crackter

Dr. G is training to run a marathon; she runs about 10 miles a day. Measured in metric time, that's 8 million miles a month. I'm lucky if I can cover 30 feet of office floor with my desk chair in a year. According to one of the Laws of Fractions I learned in 8th grade, 1/2 of you don't understand what you just read, the other 3/4 of you just don't care.

Now, because of her long distance training, Dr. G is constantly eating. For example, she'll be in a face to face meeting, when all of a sudden, this blank stare will curtain down her face; her nose will start twitching in anticipation of her next meal - kind of like a mouse looking for a block of cheese. Her head will follow her darting eyes looking for any morsel that she might pick up with her heightened olfactory sense. Below her name on her gold office plate, and etched out of teeth indentations, is the phrase, "Are you going to eat that?" Her assistant should have informed Dr. G that it wasn't a golden wrapped chocolate bar before she so gracefully bit into it.

So, here we are at dinner, Dr. G, Dr. L, Mr. Detective, and myself. We had just finished a meeting regarding medical education and how we'll train students successfully while giving them a run for their money. Dr. G surveys the whole table, remarking on our fish dishes, "Oh my! This is good fish. You know, I wish my cat ate more kinds of fish. She only likes one type. My cat weighs about 18 pounds. Poor thing."

I finish chewing a piece of spinach, swallow, and turn to Dr. G. "Wow, that's a big fur ball. That cat weighs as much as... a 9 month old child! What kind of fish do you feed your cat? I mean, is the only kind of fish your cat eats deep fried and beer battered fish sticks or something?"

Mulling over her poached sole, Dr. G continues, "Oh, heavens no! haha. I guess she takes after me, I'm constantly eating since I'm training for a marathon."

Dr. L looks at Dr. G. "Oh, that's interesting." Dr. L asks for a to-go box, and puts 1/2 of an appetiser, 1/3 of his chicken, 1/4 of Mr. Detective's dinner, and an ice cube in the box. He looks up at us, and remarks, "Oh, this is for my dog. My dog is very particular with his food. He's a Chihuahua Doberman mix. Here's a picture of him." He asks Mr. Detective for his phone, and an electronic picture of a bat looking household pet appears before our eyes. "Oh, that's wonderful! It's a little bat dog," I exclaim. "Yes, yes it is," Mr. Detective chuckles, "A hungry bat dog."

Dr. G laughs at the picture, and continues about her cat, "Well, yes, just like your bat dog, my cat is picky about what she eats. I'll offer her vittles of salmon, shark, mahi mahi, and other exotic fish. She snubs me. But I open a can of tuna, and SHOOM! my cat is right there at my ankle."

I look down at my lap, lamenting about the fact I don't have a pet, but start in, "Listening to your animal stories makes me kind of sad for the dog at my house. Poor thing is allergic to everything - no soy, no fowl, no lamb, no rice, no wheat, no dairy, no fruits or veggies. He basically has to eat puffed air. What's even more tragic is that he's allergic to most things in air too, like smoke, general allergens, and smog."

Dr G's head sympathetically turns toward me, "Oh! Poor thing, he must be miserable!"

Getting a bite of food from my plate, I respond, "You know, I forgot to ask him how he's been feeling recently, but thank you for reminding me." Mr. Detective's eyes light up, and he bowls over from laughter, noticing that my comment went over both doctor's heads. I smile politely and look at the dessert case.