Pocket Dog: Good on Top. Bad on the Bottom

We don’t mean to worry our parents, but some of us can’t help it.  Foley gave my parents only a few scares in thirteen years.  River Song has frightened them a couple of times.  Unfortunately, I make up for that by scaring them several times a month.

I am not to blame. The upper part of my body is very sweet.  I have a beautiful disposition, a sweet face, a lovely personality and a happy smile.  It is my lower end that is the culprit. I have an irritable bowel, an angry stomach, a quarrelsome colon, and a disagreeable intestine.  

My upper body is continuously good.  My lower body is intermittently bad.

Last week my lower body decided to be bad for some days.  My bowels become irritated when our schedule changes.  On Monday we had our typical day working in the yard, but our parents went out for a few hours afterward, and our supper was late.  Their leaving must have pissed off my bowels because they decided to become active at 4:00 AM. I got out of bed and did a messy poop on the pee pads.  (Irritable bowels aid alliteration.)  My parents were concerned and went into the Situation Room to discuss my condition, but since loose poops frequently happen, even if the timing was odd, they decided to monitor the situation.

The situation continued at 4:00 AM for the next two days. I was still eating, and I was active.  My parents were concerned, well, they are always concerned,  but they were more concerned than normal.  They decided since I was eating the continued to monitor my poops.

We dogs all have something in common: If we are going to get really sick, we are wait for the weekend when the regular vet is closed and the ultra-expensive vet it the only option.  On Friday my bowels turned into Gordon Ramsey with undercooked risotto.  It was angry, it was loud, and it was spreading bloody filth everywhere.

My mom thought a vet visit might make my tummy more livid.   Mommy decided to give my annoyed stomach a rest.  At night she made my special meal of pumpkin and chicken breast.  (I like this much more than my kibble.  Maybe I should reach an agreement with bitchy bowels, so we both win.)  It took a couple of days but thanks to my Mom’s good sense my intestines stopped stressing out.  Everyone in my house took a big sigh of relief.

Two nights later we had a wicked bad thunderstorm. Per usual in thunderstorms, I tried to climb on my daddy’s head. I don’t know why I do this.  Higher ground is not the best strategy. But I did.  Daddy held his left arm out, and I fell asleep on his shoulder with my arms stretched on his elbow.

The upper part of my body woke up feeling comforted.  My lower end woke up angrier than a bee stuck in a vacuum bag.

By the end of the day, I was back to normal and have been since.  My belly is sleeping.  I hope it has a long hibernation.  And I hope it doesn’t wake up on the wrong side of the intestine.