I understand that you are not feeling well. I accept that your illness, whatever it is**, has caused you to suffer temporary (I hope) instability of the bowels. While we wait for a diagnosis and treatment plan, I am willing to deal with the result of said instability with an armamentarium consisting of rags, paper towels, bucket, and mop. I am committed to your well-being.
So why did you shit in my shoes while I was out? Not just any shoes, either - you had to crap in the Perfect Clogs. These are the shoes that I coveted for years before they turned up at the outlet store, the shoes that I wear around the house instead of slippers because they protect my feet from the vicious and wily Table Legs (also Doorstops, Stray Nuts & Bolts, and Little Wheels Off Things). The light tan suede clogs that can’t be cleaned, and which are now out in the trash. From the extent of the damage you must have balanced directly over the pair of clogs and let loose, a feat of agility and balance which rivals those achieved by the Wonder Beagle himself.
As if that weren’t enough abuse for one afternoon, you managed to crap in my Birkenstocks, too. This is your loss as well as mine, though - that’s the one pair of outdoor shoes I don’t have to tie, which means that I can take you out that much faster when you want a walk. Fortunately for both of us, these are the non-leather ones and can be (and have been) cleaned.
You even managed to splatter cwPartner’s new(ish) shoes, you bitch.
-The Management
*Not-Stella, formerly known as the New Dog, has been hired to fill the position recently vacated by theWonder Beagle.
**The vet should have an answer for us tomorrow. Meanwhile, she gets probiotics and bland food.
Oh ugh, I feel your pain. One of our dogs (not from the current pack) once crapped in my favorite slippers. Had to be a contortion of some talent, as they were under a low bench. They were washable, and it was just regular poop and not diarrhea or anything, but I threw them out because I just couldn’t stomach the thought of putting my feet in them again.
My newest dog crapped on my bed one day early on when he was mad at me. I went away to grab the cleaning supplies, and came back to a brand new turd on my pillow.
You ever have one of those moments where something you read or hear triggers an old memory of an almost forgotten snippet of language? This post did that to me–half reminded me of some poem I’d once read–so I dug, and I found, and–about 1/2 way through reading I remember how ass-reamingly depressing it is. I tried to stop but couldn’t, the damage was done. The ghost of this damn dog will now stalk me for a week or two until I manage to actively forget it once again. Yet forgetting seems wrong–because beneath the knife-in-the-gut pain factor, it’s actually quite a beautiful little poem in a way. Very respectful. So I hate it but can’t leave it be. It’s very conflicting.
DOG’S DEATH by John Updike
She must have been kicked unseen or brushed by a car.
Too young to know much, she was beginning to learn
To use the newspapers spread on the kitchen floor
And to win, wetting there, the words, “Good dog! Good dog!”
We thought her shy malaise was a shot reaction.
The autopsy disclosed a rupture in her liver.
As we teased her with play, blood was filling her skin
And her heart was learning to lie down forever.
Monday morning, as the children were noisily fed
And sent to school, she crawled beneath the youngest’s bed.
We found her twisted and limp but still alive.
In the car to the vet’s, on my lap, she tried
To bite my hand and died. I stroked her warm fur
And my wife called in a voice imperious with tears.
Though surrounded by love that would have upheld her,
Nevertheless she sank and, stiffening, disappeared.
Back home, we found that in the night her frame,
Drawing near to dissolution, had endured the shame
Of diarrhea and had dragged across the floor
To a newspaper carelessly left there. Good dog.
I have two tri colored overlords. Beagles can be a problem. Winston my puppy is a shit machine. We now call him Winnie the Poop.
I take them for 2 walks in the park everyday. Walking 2 dogs is a problem. It is no fun picking up poopies when they want to chase squirrels. So to make it easier , i wait for them to poop in the back yard Yesterday Winston pooped 5 times. I can’t keep up with him.
There was no yelling, although there was hearty “WTF?” as I discovered the damage. I had cleaned up what I thought was all the poop, headed for the door to throw out the mess, looked down, and saw it. The dog, of course, had long forgotten about it.
That’s good to know - I’ll ask the vet about dosing, etc., when I talk to him. She’s a smallish, older dog and I don’t know if there are any special considerations to be taken because of her size and age.
Oh man, I wish it had just been a pair of butt-ugly Crocs. But these were a pair of Simple clogs (similar to this, but in a tan suede-type finish), and they didn’t look half bad.
OK, “Winnie the Poop” made me smile. The Wonder Beagle had the poop machine thing down, but he wasn’t as, um, productive as Winston.
Before she passed this January, my beloved canine partner Bitz the Wondermutt had had recurring liver problems for years. When it would inflame, she would get horrible diarrhea.
I understood there was no way for her to control it, so I never got mad at her, BUT she was one of those dogs that walked when she pooped instead of squatting in one place. It looked like little kids had run through the house holding inverted Hershey’s syrup bottles.
I learned to always watch her when she went outside, and if her droppings were anything less than perfectly solid, off to the vet we went to start treatment immediately. That probably extended her life and its quality by a year or so, and it definitely saved me multiple steam cleanings of the carpet.
Sorry about the ramble, and also about your shoes.
It must be my own funky-weirdo bowel problems happening for the last couple of days that made me immediately sympathetic to Not-Stella. In fact, just an hour ago I was yet again yelling at my bowels, cursing at them, and telling them about my very low opinion of them (pun intended). For the last 2 days it seems I’m either in the toilet, or thinking I shouldn’t stray too far from the toilet, or thinking about getting right back in there asap. sheesh. IBS ain’t fun whether it’s a human, or a beast. [grumble, grumble]
Speaking of pooping while walking, yesterday I saw a huge parade of horse-drawn carriages in the park. Some of the horses were fitted with poopie bags, but those that weren’t just dropped their load right in the street, seemingly without a care. I was actually envious.
Not-Stella appears to be feeling considerably better for a couple of days of probiotics and small quantities of bland food. I’ve also given her some Imodium - she’s still got the runs, but her gut has slowed down to the point that she can wait til we go outside instead of pooping on the floor.
Still waiting for lab results.
raindrop, you and your cranky gut have my sympathy. Been there, done that, it ain’t fun.
Aw. I agree with your sentiments, but DAMN I’m sorry I went ahead and read that poem. Cause I knew I’d regret it. DAMN! I’m sorry I read it.
