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  • Writer's pictureTina

I Can't Make This Sh*# Up!




Many of you know I adore my big, red buddy, Buster. Although Buster has some behaviors that could be categorized as "bad," I find him charming, and humorous, if not a bit exasperating. The Bibbed Wonder and The Bean often fail to see his charm. They say unkind things like, "Buster is the worst!" or "If Buster were my dog, you would say he is bad!" or "Buster is so fat, he has a brisket!" Rude, that's what they are. I tell my big, red, handsome buddy to ignore them. After all, haters gonna hate. It's the burden he must bear for being wonderful.


Every once in a while, The Heavy-B suffers from bouts of gastrointestinal discomfort. I am unsure what causes said discomfort; he rarely leaves my side. I feed him very little people food, and he eats the veterinarian-recommended dog food. However, he suffers bouts of explosive diarrhea and vomiting occasionally. Friday night, I heard his tummy rumbling while he slept. He spent Saturday morning in his crate while we were at the market. He did not seem to be experiencing any issues during the day. I thought perhaps he suffered a nasty bout of gas; it had passed, and all was well. That, dear reader, was not the case.


As is my nightly routine, I took 1/8th of a Delta 8 gummy, drank a glass of water, and went to bed around nine. Bus came to bed with me, as usual. I sleep like a log when I take my gummy. I was out like a light between being exhausted from the market and taking a gummy. I did not hear my big boy get up in the middle of the night. I heard nothing until I awoke to a God-awful smell. I can only describe it as a lethal, deadly dog poo smell. It was overpowering. I won't lie; I considered covering my nose and going back to sleep. However, I heard the familiar footsteps of my canine bestie prancing around. I sighed, covered my nose, and got up. As I walked down the stairs, the horrible odor got stronger. Half asleep, I turned on the chandelier over the staircase and saw nothing. However, once I reached the bottom of the stairs, I took that final step and felt warm, squishy wetness slide up between my toes.


I let loose a litany of curse words that would make Satan blush, walked on my heel with my toes in the air into the kitchen, and saw three more puddles of poo. Interestingly and alarmingly, Buster's mess was the same color as our cherry hardwood floors. Unless one were looking for it, it blended into the floor very well. I grabbed paper towels, Clorox wipes, Lysol spray, and garbage bags. As I turned to face the door, I saw a sight that caused me to gasp in horror and laugh hysterically.


Eric takes his "soap studio boots" off at the door every night. To my dismay and twisted humor, The Bibbed Wonder's boots sat by the door covered in runny, smelly dog diarrhea. My first thought was, Oh, no! Eric is going to be SO angry! My second thought was it looked like Buster aimed his ass over Eric's boots and relieved himself. My next thought was, this is too funny! I can't make this up. Not only was the poo covering the outside of the boots, it had slid down to the inside as well. I rushed poor Buster out the door, cleaned off my foot, took Eric's boots outside, and proceeded to clean up the various puddles of poo.


It took me over an hour to clean up the floors. I had to walk around downstairs with all the lights on, looking for poo spots. The poor dog must have been looking for a discreet place to relieve himself and dribbled poo everywhere. After cleaning everything up, I spent the night on the couch, letting Buster in and out as needed. It was a long night. The Bibbed Wonder slept in on Sunday morning. When he awoke, I had to tell him about the mishap with his boots. To say he was angry is an understatement. He ranted and raved about Buster being the worst dog ever. I pointed out that my poor boy was very ill; Eric was the one who left his boots by the door. It's not the dog's fault he was looking for a way out, and his boots sat there. Really, it's like he was asking to have his boots pooped on...or in...insert hysterical laughing.


I was informed I was rude and part of the problem. To appease my angry husband, I promised to clean his boots for him and put them on the dryer. It took more effort than one would think to remove watery poo from inside a work boot...sigh. However, I put them on the boot dryer, washed the laces, and hosed off the driveway once it was done. Yes, there was that much poo on his boots. Finally, The Bibbed Wonder was able to laugh about the situation. Eric claims Buster did it on purpose. If I'm being transparent, I think Eric could be right. After all, Buster is pretty good at aiming his butt and is a spite pooper.


Regardless, it makes a funny story, and I don't care what The Bibbed Wonder and The Bean say; my dog is brilliant. On this lovely September afternoon, stay safe, be smart, don't leave your boots where they can be pooped on, and keep washing your hands. Pets are a messy business.


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