Well, it’s been quite a day as I stayed home to get some painting done in the house as we prepare to list it. Not as productive a day as I had planned, but circumstances greatly influenced today’s outputs. Allow me to explain…
Circumstances originated wholly from puppy Jackson. Originating deep within said puppy. Deep in the bowels.
We feed him raw dog food from a place in west Edmonton called Tail Blazers. It’s the best thing for him, they say from their soapbox. Much healthier than kibble dog food. Isn’t your dog worth it, their eyes accuse silently. And so we fork out a bazillion dollars for each package of patties. But we have found it is worth it: Jackson’s poops are solid, little cute things with nary an odour. Easy pick up, too!
Alas, we ran out of the food a couple of days ago. So Jack’s been eating a bag of leftover kibble food and the odd table scrap. It’ll only be for a couple of days — what could go wrong?
Well today there was poop. A lot of poop. A lot of poop the consistency of chocolate pudding. And oh the smell!! What was that Jack Nicholson line? “You want the poop? YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE POOP!!”
So painting took a few breaks while I cleaned up soiled training mat after soiled training mat. Did I mention the smell? Goodness gracious, how can such a cute puppy have poop that smells so bad? But I digress. Because it got worse.
Let’s just say that Jackson had a bit of an incident during his last “run” on the mat. Most of his fragrant chocolate pudding didn’t drop on the mat. Instead it oozed out his butt, spread all over the fur near that nether region, and ran a bit down one leg for good measure.
I see this and I move quickly toward him so I can clean him up. Dog runs away, scared shitless now…ears laid flat, tail straight down between his legs. So now that appendage is all poopy, too. “Jackson, c’mere boy,” I coo, hoping to coax him to me. Nope. He wants no part of me. And he knows he’s got an issue right now because he’s while he’s running away from me, he’s also doing stops, sits and smears…leaving little stinky poop stains all over the floor.
Finally I corral him, but he’s got his butt firmly planted on the floor. I’m trying to get his butt up and lift his tail so I can try clean him with a wet wipe. And no, I’ve never had the privilege of wiping a dog’s butt, but hey, you only live once. Never say never.
Despite my best efforts, I can’t get anywhere near Jack’s rear end. By now I’m worried about paint roller and brush drying up, so I’m getting a little impatient. I scold Jackson and apply a little more pressure in attempting to lift his caboose. That only serves to scare the piss out of him. Literally. So now there’s puppy pee all over my hand, and a lovely watercolour presentation of poop-and-pee on the floor.
Crap, this day is turning bad. I think about taking Jack to the tub to give him a bath. But just the thought of brownish bath water and little pooplets floating around tells me there’s got to be another way.
I decide then and there to race out to the west end to get dog food so some semblance of puppy regularity can begin. So I carry him with arms outstretch to his kennel, thinking that in the time I’m gone, the poop will dry up and fall off. And then he can finish the cleaning job himself ’cause that’s what dog’s do, right?
Fast forward 90 minutes (had to stop for petrol) and now I’m home. I stop to let Jackson out of the kennel thinking he’s cleaned up, and I can get back to priming and painting. Yeah, no, not really.
There’s poop smears all over the kennel, all over his blankie, and all over him. I’ve got no choice now — into the tub with him. I put in the plug and grab the hand-held shower head and hose him down. Of course, he’s parked his butt firmly down again. But I keep sliding him around the bottom of the tub, applying a fairly firm pressure spray to dislodge the little turdlets and rinse him down without actually touching him anywhere near his stink hole. And sure enough, little poop flakes are soon floating around the bath water. AND I’VE GOT TO PUT MY HAND IN THERE TO PULL THE PLUG. MARIA, WHERE ARE YOU??!!
I grab a couple of towels, haul him out of the tub, and dunk my hand in and out of the water as fast as I can. I yell at Jackson — “STAY!” — so I can stand up and wash my hands. For like five minutes.
Finally, we’re done. I’m soaked, he’s clean. And now he wants to play.
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