If it seems like my blog is dominated by talk of dogs with loose morals and even looser bowels, it’s because my life is dominated by dogs with loose morals and even looser bowels.
When you’re awakened at 4am by the pungent stench of raw sewage only to discover a family room scene that makes you wish it were raw sewage, you’re left to wonder why dogs were even invented.
And when your wife absconds with your toothbrush so she can carve fecal splatter out from the cracks of your hardwood floors, you’re left to wonder why you were even invented.
“Why me? Why now? Just…why?” seems to be a recurring theme in our household. A household that is defiled day after day by pets who have little to no regard or respect for their masters’ domicile.
Two nights ago, I shot awake from a sudden attack on my nostrils and said something I never, ever, not once in my entire life, ever thought I’d say out loud:
“Damn. I REALLY hope that’s dog fart.”
Who wishes for that? Who has it so bad in their canine-owning lives that they have come to welcome…no, cherish, the aroma of dog flatulence?
Us. That’s who. And I think we’re alone. Because if piles of lumpy stew-like masses were as common for others as it is for us, there’s no way millions of dogs would be welcomed into millions of homes. Instead, there’d be pages and pages of Yellow Book exterminators. Much like there are for bugs, rodents, and other unwanted vermin that would actually be a treat right about now.
This dog has two choices when he feels that “when you gotta go, you gotta go” urge. One, he can let loose on the linoleum in our kitchen, which is easy to clean. Or two, he can desecrate our living area by blasting fecal chili all over our original hardwood floors. Thereby ensuring that the cleanup process will help fill the slats with gag-inducing ooze.
This time, like every other time, he chose the hardwood. On a night when we were out of paper towels thanks to another furry offender’s early Christmas gift. Forced to use two giant beach towels that once enjoyed ocean breezes and suntan oil, we relegated them to slop duty before casting them into the frigid night air. Just two more examples of textile casualties in our war against canines.
Making matters worse, we have a 12-foot Christmas tree, dozens of feet of real garland, and decorative holiday boughs throughout the house. Take it from me, pine-scented diarrhea is worse than it sounds.
To try and mask the aroma, my wife felt it necessary to double-fist two cans of Gingersnap Febreze and aerate the home until it smelled like an entire army of Gingerbread men took a giant dump in our family room. Christmas will never be the same for me. Jackson ruined it. You know all those sweet holiday smells you remember as a child? Consider them killed.
And this is our good dog. Remember Dory? The pup we rescued who spent her entire life tied to a barn? Well, she’s now doing her best to smell like one.
She’s a smaller dog, roughly 1/3 the weight of Jackson, but what she lacks in volume, she heartily makes up for in both quantity and frequency. And because she’s half-blind, half-deaf, and all the way dumb, she just wanders around the house leaving little trails of poop nuggets as she walks.
Either she has no clue it’s even happening, thereby supporting my claim that she’s dumb; or she’s doing it so she can later find her way back to family room, which would also support my claim that she’s dumb.
Her namesake, that cute little Ellen DeGeneres fish from Finding Nemo was forgetful and borderline moronic as well, but everyone loved her along with all of her quirks. It’s the same situation with our own Dory. We love her along with all of her quirks. Except for her oblivious poop-in-stride quirk. That one I could do without.
We can’t yell at Jackson for unloading considering he’s sick and doesn’t possess the opposable thumbs necessary to open doors. And we can’t yell at Dory because even if she remembered what she did three seconds ago, it’s not like she can hear us or even see us admonishing her.
She didn’t used to be this bad about it. It’s almost like she’s regressing. Same with Jackson. It’s as though they’re taking cues from each other and justifying their filthy behavior because, “Hey, if she can do it…so can I.” And it’s this canine regression that’s killing our floors, our home, and our peace of mind. It’s like they take one step forward and two crap-dispersing steps back.
Can you understand how helpless we feel knowing that we have the Nell of Retriever mixes in this house? And before you say anything, I know what you’re thinking…you’re going to share all kinds of dog wisdom with me. Waxing stories about repetition and feeding them tablespoons of pumpkin mush and having patience. Bah!
Understand that before you even say a word, I hear ya. I heard ya last time. The problem isn’t effort. It’s breaking a 12-year habit of defecating where ye lay because you were chained to the same six-foot radius your entire life.
And before you recommend crating for either dog, understand that we tried this and neither one cared a lick about rolling around in their own feces. You’d think that being confined to such close quarters would dissuade them from defecating on themselves, but what do they care? All it taught them is that they’ll get a nice refreshing bath soon afterwards.
When I see people skipping and galloping about the park with their shiny happy dogs faithfully by their sides, I can’t help but think that they have an entirely different perspective and experience when it comes to dog ownership. Some say the joy of dog ownership is in the companionship, the unconditional love, and the happy-go-lucky play that takes place each day.
You want to know what makes us happy? When we actually go a day…just ONE day…without cleaning up “accidents” that don’t really have the vibe of accidents at all.
You know it’s time to reassess your life when a dog fart precedes relief. That’s just not right and these aren’t life moments that anyone disclosed to me before acquiring animals.
I told Heather that when Jackson and Dory die, we’re swearing off dogs forever. We’re done. We’re going to get our life back.
If anything’s gonna crap on our floors, it’s gonna be us.