I don’t eat when I am not feeling well. Basically, I need to be perfect, and the weather 60 degrees and sunny, or I ain’t eating. But on Thursday morning, I happily ate my food, then marched into the kitchen and left a river of poop smelling foulness you can’t even imagine.
My parents and I have an agreement: They don’t get mad when I have an accident on a bad belly day, and I never mention it again. I want to say that was the only accident I had that day, but it would be a lie. Whenever there is something foul inside of me, I want to get it out like it is Damian, and I am Rosemary in the delivery room pushing like a trucker trying to hide an illegal rig under an off-road bridge with the staties on his tail.
After my major eruption, I left little dribs and drabs everywhere: On the couch, the recliner, Mommy’s bath mat, and towel. River told me that I don’t know how to fart. She says that most dogs just fart, but I fart and push until something pops out. “It’s a good thing you never got pregnant,” she said. “First, cramp, and you would shoot the kids across the room.”
For years I have followed the same pattern. I have a bad day, then I get it out, and I am good for a few weeks. Usually, on squeaky tummy days, I skip breakfast, which gives my tummy time to rest. But that morning, I had breakfast, and that set off an unprecedented series of events.
The next morning I felt worse. I wanted nothing to do with food. I turned my nose up and my butt down to everything. While Daddy worked, I left poo puddles for Mommy to find. After a particularly revolting poop, I began eating again. That is what I do when I am healed. Big poop, big eat, get on with life. My parents thought that the issues were over. Then, at 2:00 AM, I crawled up the bed to Daddy and said: “you up?” He tried to shove me under the covers, but I kept popping up and staring at him. Finally, he got up and put me on the pee pads, which I immediately christened the “messy poop pads.” The poor pad was a one and done. There was no leaving that thing down for re-use.
My parents knew this wasn’t one of my ordinary bad poops spells but something more persistent. They switched my diet to chicken and rice. I had my scheduled yearly vet visit for Monday. We would have to ride out the poop tornadoes for two more days.
I ate breakfast on Saturday and seemed to be on the mend until my Aunt and Uncle came over for dinner, and I took a smelly post-meal poop in the living room. No one got upset. I have been blessed with a very pathetic face. Who could get mad at me for being sick? Anyway, they got dinner and a show.
On Sunday, my belly was cleaned out of everything but chicken and rice, so I didn’t poop everywhere all day long, but I was still loose. When I went to the vet on Monday, everyone was very nice, even though the tech had to take four shots at finding a vein in my leg to get blood. I got a stylish pink bandage.
My examination went very well. They ordered some exceptional food for me that River can’t eat because it is mine, medicine, and over the counter powder for gut health. I am going to be eating my chicken and rice, which I love until the new food arrives.
We think the culprit was a small package of wet food. My tummy had been good for two months, and Daddy thought I could try something new. I only get a spoonful a day, so how much damage could it do? If you ask Mr. Floor, who may never feel clean again, a lot.
It has been so far so good tummy wise this week. We will see what the future will bring.
I don’t know if I want to be as regular as River. I have to do something to keep my parents on their toes.