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Isn’t Keeping You Alive Enough?

When you invite an animal into your home, you are also inviting the swarm of responsibilities that goes along with it.  Once you “own” a pet, you also have to own up to taking care of them.  Of course, there is a certain satisfaction in tending to another being.  When I feed my dog and cat, I know that no matter what, I accomplished something that day. I kept my animal alive with the two seconds it took to bend over and pour some pebbles into a bowl.  I am a good person and I do stuff.

But there are also complex parts of owning an animal that you must deal with – like their shit.  Chances are that if you have a pet, you are going to have to negotiate their feces from time to time.

My dog Mona is 12; so on most occasions her bowels are her own private business.  I always have a door to my house open, so she can come and go as she pleases and open her asshole to expel its contents at her leisure.  But sometimes, every once in a while, shit goes down.

Example 1: I was sitting on the couch watching “Curb Your Enthusiasm” when I smelled something – the unmistakable scent of defecation.  I looked down, and Mona was lying by my feet innocently… but I knew she wasn’t.  I looked at her asshole and there it was.  A hanger – a piece of shit that had not been pushed out fully, and was just hanging on for the ride.  I ran to the kitchen to get a paper towel because I knew what I was in for.  I was going to have to pull this shit out.  This has happened before, however, and I figured it was only slightly stuck.  But then I started to pull, and pull, and pull, and pull, for a disturbing amount of time.  I pulled a 6-inch string of shit out of my dog’s butt before it was over, and I am still having nightmares about it.

Example 2: I woke up this morning with the aroma of caca wafting into my face. The stench was so putrid I had to gag.  I looked over and right by my door was a trail of wet crap. I then saw Mona cowering in the corner and knew that she was the obvious culprit, and I was not to blame for this atrocity.

Beyond the fact that I was dry heaving, there were the problems that complicated this scenario.  It was early so my eyes were hardly opened, my mind was bleary from the medication for my shingles, and the shit was right in front of the door. Meaning there was no way to get out.  If I opened the door too far I would scrape the shit and smear it everywhere, not to mention have shit on the bottom edge of my door, which would be really hard to clean.

There was also a table in my way making it even more difficult to get out and not step in doo-doo.  I could open the door the barely 5 inches before it made contact. So I had to Cirque du Soleil over the bum-paste, pass the table, and then slide out the door like I was Casper the Friendly Ghost just barely grazing the door with the first mound of droppings.  Then of course I had to slink back in, and pick up enough butt-stuff where I could open the door wide enough to dispose of it.

You are lucky I was too tired to get out my phone do document this event

mona-blog-(i)

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