Pee & Poop

  • Not Playing the Game is the New Game

    How much do you censor yourself on a daily basis? Do you ever find yourself in situations where you want to say one thing, but instead say another in fear of how you will be perceived? How defined is your personality by the expectations of others? Do you feel like your true self has to be tamed or contained in order to protect your feelings and spare yourself from rejection?

    What would happen if everything you wanted to express, you actually did?

    As socialized humans most of us have it ingrained in us that we think before we share, and consider the emotional reaction of others when deciding how to behave. When people shun these rules, or challenge them, they are often out-casted. Yet what do you think are the cultural norms that serve us in our humanity, and what are the ones that keep us from it?

    The other day I was meeting a friend for lunch at the Green Grocer, and decided to do a bit of grocery shopping before hand. As I was loading up my bok choy and bone broth at the register, I suddenly had the feeling that I may have just shit my pants. As you can assume, this is an alarming sensation mixed with a fair amount of anxiety. At that exact moment my friend entered into the store, and started talking to me. Now, it’s kind of hard to be yourself when you’re questioning whether or not there is shit in your pants. So I did what any normal person would do… leaned over and said, “I may or may not have just shit my pants, and kind of need to investigate before I can be fully present.”

    Look… I get it that discussing sharting is not typically grocery line conversation. Yet at the same time, how frustrating is it to talk to someone who isn’t really paying attention and doing weird gestures with the bottom half of their body? Wouldn’t you rather know the truth of your company dealing with a potential bodily crisis rather than thinking you’re boring them as they stare off into the distance with an expression of deep questioning and angst?

    Lucky for me, there was no shit in my pants and I could continue with lunch unfazed by such an inconvenience. However this delightful experience did get me thinking about all the things that we hide from each other that actually might be important to know.

    Like most people, I exist in a quantum mass of contradiction. It’s not like I don’t care what people feel about me, because I do… I just don’t care what people think about me. Does this make sense? I think this comes from the two influences of my parents. My dad is like a social ambassador to the UN. He’s incredibly polite, he can talk to anyone, and he has the uncanny ability to charm even the vilest people. Where my mom will go into a store and ask the sales lady if the leggings she’s trying on is giving her a camel toe. THIS IS WHERE I COME FROM GUYS!

    I am a peacemaker. I care deeply about the emotional well being of others, but if within that context, you also happen to think I’m totally out of my mind, I’m okay with that. I feel like everyone has a mental illness they’re covering up, and the best thing we can do for each other is pull back the veil.

    Yet I also have to acknowledge that the way I deal with people has been fundamentally different from the way I’ve dealt with the opposite sex. When I was in high school my view of men was that all boys use girls. I decided that I was NOT going to be the sucker, or get used by some fucktard dude, and my solution was to cheat on EVERYONE I dated. I figured if I used guys the way they used girls, I wouldn’t feel used. So I always had multiple boyfriends, and lied to everyone. It all culminated when I was 18-years old and ran the Boston Marathon. When I got to the finish line I saw my boyfriend that went to my school, the boy I was cheating on with my boyfriend, another boy who I was having a long-term emotional affair with, my out of school boyfriend, and finally another boy I was leading on. So after running 26 miles and seeing these five boys do you know what I did? I KEPT RUNNING!!! I tried to run home… but everyone stopped me. And would you like to know the consequences of my actions? A LOT OF PEOPLE GOT HURT!

    But I least I didn’t get used right??

    The problem with modern romance is that the culture has become such where people are embarrassed for having feelings, and are ashamed for feeling love. The cool thing to do is show that you have no emotions, and how you’re just so damn cool about everything that whatever goes, and nothing matters, and who cares because Tinder.

    It’s as if the protecting our egos has become more important than sharing our hearts.

    No way I’m I gonna be the one admitting the fragility of ventricles. I’m gonna act like my aorta doesn’t need you because the humiliation of admitting that you got into my right atrium is too much to bare. You guys… I did really good in 8th grade biology can you tell?

    Men seem to think that all women want are relationships, so they act all frosty to show they aren’t ready for any serious commitment. Women know that men are paranoid about them wanting relationships, so they act all blasé to prove you’re not the kind or girl who’s desperate for commitment. Then it becomes this game of pretending like neither of you give a shit, when really, if you don’t give a shit about the person you’re fucking, chances are the sex is shit.

    You can’t enter into relationships feeling guarded, because if you do, you are avoiding the intimacy of who you both really are. There is so much fear around “what is this going to turn into,” or “am I going to get hurt by another person’s indifference,” that people so often self censor or become hyper-calculated.

    When I was in my 20’s I got bored of playing the game. So then my new strategy became to tell the guy I liked everything that’s wrong with me right in the beginning. I’d be like, “hey, I’m mostly lovely but I’m never wrong, I will emotionally eviscerate you in an argument and point out every flaw you’ve ever had, and I will totally lie to you to avoid conflict or get what I want.” EASY RIGHT!

    Technically that’s not how the game is played, but I would argue that NOT playing the game is the new game! How refreshing is radical honesty in this photo-shopped auto-tuned world? How sexy is vulnerability when everyone is treating each other like robots from West World? We are not disposable, and we shouldn’t treat each other as such just because you can swipe right again tomorrow.

    Much like how my friend probably didn’t think she wanted to know about my potentially poopy pants, it was BETTER for her that she did because then she didn’t take my feces inspired pre-occupation personally. The more open we are about what we are dealing with emotionally, the better friends we can be to each other.

    Me at 13 plotting the destruction of the future boys in my life…

    February 22, 2017 • Emotions, Musings, Old School Stories, Pee & Poop, Sex Stuff • Views: 3127

  • What is Funny vs. What is Appropriate

    I like to challenge social convention. It makes me feel more comfortable when I am making other people feel uncomfortable. Something is soothing about the discomfort.

    As a result, this means I have a very fluid relationship to “appropriate behavior.” I like it when people tease acceptability, especially when trying to get a laugh. Sometimes you have to take things too far just to wake people up. That’s how you find the comedy gold.

    I also strive for authentic honest connection to people. So when my 5-year old is going to say something like “Let’s pretend this My Little Pony is really mean, and called this My Little Pony a ditch,” I’m going to correct her. It’s bitch honey…. Not ditch.

    Of course I don’t want my daughter to swear, but she can’t go around thinking people are “ditches.” That’s just absurd. I don’t have to shelter The Munch from the existence of these words, but I do have to explain that children aren’t supposed to curse. Only fucking grownups are allowed to do that.

    When The Munch and her little friend were showing me their butts the other day, I had to take pause. Either I could say, “that is rude,” or I could say what I actually said: which was “that is called mooning.” If they are going to moon me, they should at least know what it is called – because mooning people is hilarious in the right context. Of course you don’t want to moon the wrong person… like your teacher or a pervert at the park. But what kind of world is this when you can’t moon your own mom and crack up with your friends about it!?

    So this takes me to The Munch’s new favorite music videos to watch. They are parodies of her favorite pop songs, and she thinks they are wittiest thing every to happen to the Internet. “Mom, in this one video she keeps putting her butt in this guy’s face and it is soooooooooooo funny.” Yeah maybe it is not proper to let my kid watch videos with swear words and shit, but the fact The Munch is developing her butt and poop humor is the first sign of a future comedy genius. At least here’s praying.

    September 7, 2015 • 5 years old, Behavior, Mommyhood, Parenting, Pee & Poop, Talking and Not Talking • Views: 6741

  • Lady Farts

    As a lady, one thing I am not supposed to talk about is farts. I am not sure why they are so taboo for a lady to do. Maybe because one has to picture a lady sphincter opening up to release a noxious, feces scented, vapor. This is hard for the human mind to conceive, because one also does not enjoy envisioning a lady depositing waste from her anus. As far as civilization is concerned, things should only be going in a woman’s derrière, not out.

    Let me take a moment to apologize for the female gender, and admit that despite how tight we might clench, eventually substances of a variety of forms may exit our rumps. We will go through great lengths to do such things in private, so as not to violate the lady code, but there may be a moment of weakness when the gluteus Maximus is not quite strong enough to withstand the impending pressure of biology. It is never our intention to assault one’s perception of ladyness with the disgrace of our physical ecosystem, yet I hope that you, my gracious reader, can excuse the inevitable need to momentarily prioritize anatomy over convention.

    Even I, your humble servant, am committed to proper ladylike conduct and rarely expose an audience to my fumes. If such an event were to occur, I would of course blame it on my canine Mona to maintain integrity. I also make sure to eat a steady organic diet that does not vary in texture or flavor to ensure such a ghastly event would rarely take place. A lady of course considers the consequences of her digestion before the indulgence of ingestion.

    Yet over the weekend I was frequenting a variety of engagements that impacted my normal régime. The consequences of my actions were dire, and that evening while I was putting my sweet child to bed, I had what one might quantify as “the farts.” I was trying to be discreet, but The Munch was sitting on my lap, and I felt one coming on.

    Toni: Munch, go do potty so we can brush your teeth and go to bed.
    Munch: But I don’t want to do potty… I want you to tickle me first.
    Toni: First potty, then I will tickle you… Go now Munch – I mean it.

    The Munch started sliding off my lap, yet not at a speed fast enough to compete with the processing of my intestines. Her slither off my legs was not only ill timed, but also ill placed – and I ended up farting on her head.

    Munch: Ew. What is that smell? It smells like Mona farted, but she is downstairs.
    Toni: I farted.

    Although it was of course upsetting to have violated The Munch’s perception of her culturally appropriate mother, I also did become aware of the great power of my gas. After we did our night time routine of story and back tickling, it was time for me to leave and go downstairs to do what adults do in the late evening hours… sit on their computers.

    Toni: Alright Munch, sleep well. I am going downstairs.
    Munch: No! Keep cuddling… just stay and cuddle for five more minutes.
    Toni: Five minutes, and then bedtime.
    Munch: Okay… I promise.

    Five minutes later…

    Toni: That’s five minutes. I love you. Sleep well.
    Munch: No Mamma, please stay for a little longer and keep cuddling.
    Toni: Munch I have to go or else I am going to fart in your bed.
    Munch: Okay goodnight Mamma. See you in the morning.


  • Private Acts In Public Spaces

    I have a thing with public bathrooms. They really gross me out. If I am going to use one, I hover over the seat like a helicopter. My thighs burn from the squatting position during the time it takes for various substances to evacuate my body.

    When my kid needs to use a public facility, I use toilet paper to create a crown for her. Even then, her hands end up touching the seat and the back of her shins will make contact with the bottom part of the potty. It is really hard not to get anal about all the germs coating the latrine. If you are going to be anal anywhere, it might was well be in the John.

    So the other day The Munch and I were at the beach and rather than peeing outside in the woods like a normal person, she insisted on going to the porta-potty. This was my worst nightmare. I had coffee that morning, which is a rare thing for me, so not only was I high as fuck, I was on edge and full of anxiety.

    Toni: Dude, I really don’t want you going in there. Just pee over here – behind the bush.
    Munch: No Mom! I want to just use the potty.
    Toni: Munch it is so gross in there. Just lets go over here… and pee outside.
    Munch: MOM!
    Toni: Okay fine. But let me take your leotard off out here.
    Munch: Why are you doing it out here? What are you doing?
    Toni: I don’t want you to get your clothes all gross in there.
    Munch: Mom, now I am naked.
    Toni: Its fine. Okay… so I am going to just hold you up over the potty, and dangle your butt over the seat.
    Munch: Uhhhhhhh okay.
    Toni: Here we go… now pee.
    Munch: Mom is the pee going in the potty, I feel it dripping down my legs?
    Toni: Yes it is. Sorry… let me change the angel. Is that better?
    Munch: Mom, you are really freaking me out right now.
    Toni: Listen… it is just better this way. Trust me.
    Munch: Mom, I really don’t like the way you are acting.
    Toni: You are going to thank me later when you don’t have someone else’s pee on the back of your thighs… just your own.

    (I mean… would you want to bring that leotard into a porta potty??)


    August 7, 2014 • 4 years old, Adventures, Family Drama, Parenting, Pee & Poop, Toddler Thoughts • Views: 3550

  • The Toilet Paper Incident

    There is nothing quite comparable to fighting with your parents as an adult.  It is not like a normal disagreement that you would get into with a normal person.  When your mom or dad is mad at you, there is a power dynamic that ensues – one where they feel the need to infantilize you.  No matter how old or mature you may be, when you parents are angry with you, they will scold the shit out of you.

    I usually try to avoid the wrath of my mom or dad.  I pretty much know what annoys them, and can circumvent obvious triggers.  But every once in a while, I am a casualty of circumstance, and piss one of them off.  In this case, it was my mom.

    So where I live, I am neighbors with my mom.  But she doesn’t spend all her time here.  She usually is in Boston. Yet she is here during the summers and some specific weekends.  Point is… there are many many many many days where she is not here.

    Last week during snowmageddon, I was snowed the fuck in, and of course, ran out of toilet paper.  Now this is one of those household items that you cannot live without – especially as a female.  Every pee has to be attended to in some manner, because dripping dry takes too long for any sane person to deal with.  And you can’t go around with stinky pee-scented cootch.

    Liliana, Munch’s baby sitter, was going past my mom’s house so I texted her and asked if she could grab some toilet paper.  In my mind she would grab a roll, but the place I told her to look only had an entire package.  When Liliana traversed through the tundra to give me the toilet paper, I realized I hadn’t communicated my one roll only need.

    After thanking Liliana and looking at the full package, I knew there was some serious potential for drama in my future.  Because now I had to remember to restock my mom’s toilet paper before she came back up again – and this is the type of adult behavior that I am really not very good at.

    I knew my mom was coming up the next weekend, so I kept the toilet paper package in an obvious place to help remind me.  Every day I would like and say to myself “ you have to remember to do something about this Toni.”

    I think here is a good place to add that toilet paper is a serious point of contention in my relationship with my mom.  Mainly because of her preferred brand in comparison to mine.  My mom only buys “Scott’s,” where I only buy eco brands.  My mom’s philosophy is Scott’s is very thin, and will last an exponentially longer time than my nature leaves.  But my thinking is that Scott’s feels like wiping your taint with wrapping paper, and my hippy shit-sheets are saving the earth because it comes from recycled paper.

    Now I had assumed that my mom was coming on Friday, but in fact she actually came on THURSDAY!  I think you can see where this is going.

    Toni:  Are you here?

    My Mom: I am here!

    Toni: Nice! How are you?

    My Mom: Well the strangest thing has happened.  Somebody came into my house and took all my toilet paper.

    Toni: Huh… that is strange.

    My Mom:  I mean, what kind of person would take all my toilet paper?

    Toni: Ummmmmmm…..

    My Mom: They took it off the rolls, and took my entire package too.  I think I am going to have to start locking my door.

    Toni: Well…

    My Mom: Was it you? Did you take my toilet paper?

    Toni: I mean it sounds like something I would do… but I didn’t take it off the rolls! That is the work of a crazy person.

    My Mom: Wait, so what are you saying?

    Toni: I mean I may have taken your package of toilet paper.  But I didn’t take rolls off the toilet paper contraption thing in the bathrooms.

    My Mom: What the fuck Toni!!! GET YOUR OWN FUCKING TOILET PAPER!

    Toni: But Mom…. Listen.  It happened last week during the Noreastern from hell.  I was desperate.

    My Mom: Well you should have gone out and gotten your own fucking toilet paper and not taken mine!

    Toni: Mom, you wanted me to risk my life to drive through a storm to get toilet paper?

    My Mom: Yes! Or you should have prepared better.  I mean seriously Toni what is wrong with you?

    Toni: Look I am sorry about the toilet paper.  I honestly thought you were coming on Friday and I was going to get it tomorrow morning.

    My Mom: Well I came up today and now I don’t have any toilet paper.

    Toni: Mom I am sorry.  I will bring you some right now.   In fact I will go to the store right now and get you some as well!

    My Mom: No because you won’t get me the right kind!  You will get your stupid green-bum paper that you go through after wiping your ass 3 times.

    Toni: No I won’t Mom.  I will get you the kind you like.

    My Mom: No you won’t.   You will get me the wrong kind.  And that is why you stole my toilet paper in the first place.  Because your toilet paper sucks.  Seriously Toni.  GET YOUR OWN FUCKING TOILET PAPER.

    (And of course she did NOT let this go… and we argued about it for the next 20 or so hours via text… and I did NOT take her damn Kleenex)



    February 24, 2014 • Family Drama, Pee & Poop, Talking and Not Talking • Views: 7936

  • The Shittiest Houseguest Ever

    When you are a guest in someone’s home, it is important to be aware of your impact. You have to clean up after yourself, bring food to contribute, do little favors that will make your host feel appreciated…  You can’t just go into a place and shit all over everything right? Well, unfortunately, The Munch didn’t get that memo.

    When I was packing up my stuff to leave NY, I decided to give The Munch a bath so I could wash off all the subway and park germs that had been accumulated.  While The Munch was in there playing, I was also getting everything together and not really paying much attention to what she was doing.

    Munch: Mamma! I need to go potty!

    I put her on the toilet, and figured she would tell me when it was time for me to wipe her, so I went about my business.  Then my friend Gita (who we were staying with) went into the bathroom to wash her hands, and suddenly screamed!

    Gita: OH MY GOD!

    Toni: What!? Is everything okay?

    Gita: Yeah, there is just poop in the toilet, and I wasn’t really ready for that.

    Toni: Oh shit, I am sorry.  Munch must have pooped.

    Gita: No, that is okay! I just wasn’t prepared, and I don’t really love seeing other people’s poop.  I mean, not that it is a big deal. I just don’t love it.  But I guess that would be weird if I did love looking at other people’s poop so….

    Toni: Wait a minute…. Munch! You pooped but you also didn’t have me wipe you??!

    Munch: Mamma, there is poop in the bath now!

    So you can see what happened here right?  The Munch crawled back into the bath with her shitty ass, her shit particles contaminated the water, and then they were just floating around her in wispy disintegrating chunks.

    Toni: Well Munch, taking a bath in feces kind of defeats the purpose, so this is what we are going to do.  I am going to drain the bath, and then wash you off thoroughly while crying a lit bit inside.

    Munch: But I want to keep playing!

    Toni: Not in shit water you don’t.  After I wash you off, and clean the bath, you can have some more water and play for a bit longer okay?  But we have to deal with this now.

    So I went to drain the bath, but then quickly noticed that the water wasn’t going down.  I reached my hand into the cesspool to check, and sure enough, there was a problem with the suction.

    Toni: Uh Oh.

    Gita: What is it?

    Toni: The water isn’t going down?

    Gita: What do you mean?

    Toni: Well like, it isn’t really being pulled down the drain.

    Gita: Could it be the lavender chunks from the bath you took last night? Do you think that could have clogged the drain?

    Toni: Probably… yeah I do.

    I kind of pumped the drain a bit and finally the water started going down… slowly though… very very very slowly.

    Toni: Don’t worry Gita! It’s totally working!! (sort of…)

    Gita then came into see the progress, and say goodbye to Munch as she was heading off to the movies.  As she was leaning over me to kiss Munch goodbye, I noticed something.  It was round, and brown, and on her pristine white shag bath matt.  Yup.  It was a poop ball that had obviously fallen out of The Munch’s ass while she was straddling the bath to climb back in.

    Toni: Well thanks so much for having us Gita…. And for all your help and support and sorry about the shit bath I promise I will clean it and bye! Bye! You are going to be late so you should probably get out of here now! Bye!  Love you. Bye!!

    Gita: Oh… okay.  See you guys soon!

    There was just no way I could admit to Gita that not only had my lavender and kid shit clogged her drain, but there was in fact a chunk of crap right below her nose on the bathroom rug, embedding itself deeper into the fibers with every second that passed.

    As soon she left I went for the cleaners and I cleaned that bathroom like Cinderella on meth. I am pretty sure I left no trace behind, but Gita, I probably owe you a new bath mat.  I just Amazon-d it, so its on its way!



    February 4, 2014 • 3 years old, Adventures, Family Drama, Pee & Poop, Talking and Not Talking • Views: 2852

  • The Effect of TV is More Disturbing Than I Thought

    It is hard to raise your child with no TV. I tried really hard to be a purist about it, but that meant I had to talk to my kid… like all the time!  Yet it is something I do have concerns about, because TV turns The Munch into a zombie.  She stares at the screen like she is catatonic, and it is disturbing.  So unless she is sick, I don’t let The Munch watch anything at home, but I do let her watch the IPad in the car… and we are in the car everyday so that is happening…

    I think part of my trepidation is that I watched a lot of TV growing up.  I was a “latch key kid” and so TV was the family I came home to.  Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Facts of Life, Growing Pains, Out of This World, He-Man, GI- Joe, Brady Bunch, Alf, Harry and the Hendersons, Small Wonder, The Wonder Years, Beverly Hills 90210, were all charters that kept me company.  I don’t blame my parent’s for this – I know they were busy and working hard… buuuuuuut they are the reason why my brain is rotted like a cesspool of toxic sludge according to this article, so thanks a lot mom and dad.

    There are many studies that discuss the impact of TV on your kid’s brain, but you know what?  I don’t think I need anyone to tell me the effect of TV on my kid.  All I have to do is watch The Munch watch stuff, and it is pretty obvious that she is totally hypnotized.  So much so that she ignores everything else to the point of near insanity.  For example, we were driving home from Boston the other day and she mumbled something about having to go potty.

    Toni: Munch, you have to go potty? Is that what you said? Do you want me to stop?


    Toni: Munch, are you listening to me?


    Toni: MUNCH! Do you need to go potty or what? Should I pull over?

    Munch: Naw, I just peed in my pants.

    You would think she was joking… but no.  She actually peed in her pants because she was too distracted / didn’t want to stop watching to go to the bathroom.  And the crazy part is, that for the rest of the hour long drive home, she didn’t complain once about sitting in her own urine, and stayed totally captivated by Curious George.

    (You see that look in her eye? I could be on fire doing cartwheels and she wouldn’t look up)


    November 26, 2013 • 3 years old, Behavior, Health, Parenting, Pee & Poop, Talking and Not Talking • Views: 2555

  • The End of an Era

    Cribs are amazing because they are like little prisons.  You put your kid in one, and they can’t get out.  Amazing invention.  Who ever came up with that should get a Nobel Peace Prize.

    The Munch sleeping in her crib was the best thing about my life.  At night, I would put her in it, we would say goodnight, and she would be there until the morning.  With all the chaos in the world, this was the amazing consistency that brought balance to my universe.

    Until one day when she decided she didn’t want to sleep in her crib any more, because cribs are for babies, and she needed a big girl bed.  And for some sick reason my mom told Munch that when she got a big girl bed, she could wake up and go poops by herself- planting the seed for future pandemonium.

    This was my fear.  Once Munch had a bed, and could get out of it, she would be a free agent.  She could walk around and do whatever she wanted, including come in my bed.  But after co-sleeping with The Munch for the first 18-months of her life, I have had enough of that.  Call me crazy, but it is hard to sleep when someone insists on holding your throat – or as Munch calls it, “cuddling.” Also, my energy is too connected to hers.  Any sound or movement she makes wakes me up, and it is like a special kind of torture.

    I figured I would get The Munch a bed that she would be really into, and want to sleep in.  So we went to Toys R Us, and a piece of me died.  We found a purple Minnie Mouse and Daisy Duck bed that was made from off-gassing toxic plastic, and was probably fabricated by fetuses in China.

    The first night at around 3 in the morning I heard little footsteps come into my room, and The Munch crawled into my bed and snuggled right against my back.  Then for the next four hours she proceeded to kick, jab, and choke me.

    Toni: Listen Munch, this is not going to happen.  You wanted a big girl bed, so I got you a big girl bed, and now you have to sleep in your big girl bed.  I can’t have you coming in my bed and kicking me all night.

    Munch: I wasn’t kicking you! I was cuddling you!!!

    Toni: Well, that is very sweet, but you can cuddle me in the morning when the sun is up. But you have to sleep in your big girl bed during the night.  Otherwise you can’t go to school.  Your teacher said all the kids sleep in their beds all night and that is the rule.

    Okay fine.  It is not nice to lie to your kid.  But it is not nice to only sleep a few hours a night either so whatever.  But it worked.  The Munch slept in her bed all night and didn’t wake me up until the morning.

    Toni: Munch, are you wearing underpants?

    Munch: Yeah! I woke up and went poops all by myself.  But I didn’t wipe my bum, so I got some poops on my chair, and the rug, and on the other chair in my room.  But don’t worry Mamma.  I cleaned it all up.

    I got up, looked around, and sure enough on the chair, and on the rug, and on the other chair was a square of toilet paper covering each shit patty left behind.  I literally woke up to a shit storm.

    Munch: And look Mamma look!  I put sparkles on my bear!

    And there was an entire bottle of sparkles covering her bear.

    The end of the crib era… sigh….



  • 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


    August 21, 2013 • Family Drama, Pee & Poop • Views: 2429