Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Poop Roulette

Along with my lovely bearded boyfriend came a sweet, dopey black Labrador named Maggie...or Marge, depending on the mood you're in. She's incredibly smart, yet slightly retarded, but in an endearing way like most Labs are. She's special in that she loves to squeeze between you and the wall while going out for a walk, wrapping the leash around you twice instead of taking the logical way around. She farts so loud that the first time she let out a big "brrrrrrrffff," I looked at Pat and said, quite astonished, since we weren't quite to the we-fart-in-front-of-each-other stage of our relationship at the time, "Was that you?!" Yeah, sure, blame it on the dog!

I've personally banned her, and at this point, I think Pat has too, from sleeping on anything except for her own bed as she has a tendency to pee in her sleep on occasion even though she takes medicine for it. She grunts and groans and whines like Chewbacca and every morning when I wake up, she's up, either staring at me creepily from across the room or staring at me creepily while breathing heavily in my face.

I've gotten to know her quite well since I take her in when Pat travels for work. I've even kind of gotten used to her incontinence issues, but I had no idea she had a poop issue too until the other night. Yes, I'm going to talk about dogs pooping. Let's recall the number of times I've listened to mothers in the midst of potty training their kids talk about ad nauseum their grievances over why their child refuses to shit in the toilet. I love my friends who are mothers, but I can only handle hearing about the size, shape, consistency and frequency of a baby's bowel movements for so long. Sometimes we need to give the ass-to-potty, poo poo, pee pee, talk a rest and chat about more adult dogs pooping.

One night recently, I was walking the two mongrels through my neighborhood while listening to one of my favorites, Grace Potter and the Nocturnals on my iPod. After several blocks, I figured they had done what they were going to do for the night and I was growing really tired of the weaving back and forth and stopping every three inches to smell something apparently intoxicating on the grass. So, I decided to reel them in, one on either side of me and walk the last two blocks home briskly, enjoying my music.

Just as we were crossing the street to head inside my apartment, I feel a tug on Maggie's side and turn to find her in the dog pooping squat position, looking up at me like it was a perfectly normal thing and absolutely not budging. She just stopped to take a shit right in the middle of 19th Avenue.

I yanked her backwards as her claws tried to clench the asphalt. Dragging her out of the busy street was not what I had in mind because I thought she would respond to my yelling and tugging, stand up and walk back to the sidewalk, but she would not leave the squat position.

I'm going, 'What the hell is this, poop roulette?' The dog had blocks and blocks to do her thing, but will only shit when she and her handler are in inherent danger. "It makes me feel ALIVE!" She would say, if she could talk. Or maybe, "hey, I gotta poop. NOW. Let's stop before we cross the street." Yeah, that would have been helpful.

She held strong, as I used every ounce of strength to pull her 70 pound ass to safety on the sidewalk, which is where she deposited a couple measly presents. I was like, "Is that all you've got?! I just risked my life for that?!" If you're going to try to kill yourself and me, at least make it worth the while...Please, by all means, shit a mountain and I wouldn't have even been mad.

No harm done, I guess, except for the dozen people or so who witnessed me wrestling a pooping dog across the street. I love dogs, but seriously, they are so goddamn retarded sometimes.

Oh heeeeeey! Der, der, der, I like to poop in the street!

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