Talking Sh*t

Editorial Discalimer

I want to begin today's blog post with the disclaimer. Today's post is literally

about fecal matter. If you are of the faint of heart please leave now and except my sincerest apologies. Please come back tomorrow when I'm talking about something frivolous like celebrities, nose jobs or boobs. Thank you.

Can we talk? Or the question is can we talk sh*t? 

I got to tell someone because I'm about to blow. I've got to confess that my dog has a shi*ty problem Or a shi*ting problem. Whatever you want to call it driving my family and I bonkers.

My dog is old. Probably about 13 to 14 years, we are not quite sure because he was a pound dog. About six months ago he started pooping on the kitchen floor, upstairs in the hallway and several other places in my house at night. We would let him out 1030 or 11 o'clock at night to make sure he was doing what he needed to do before bed. Sure enough, the next morning there was a package lovingly left somewhere in the house. It's gotten to the point that there are gates cordoning off almost all of the house that the dog is allowed to be in.

Now I know you're saying to yourself, "Haven't you taken him to the vet?" Of course we took him to the vet. We have changed his diet at least six or  seven times in the last six months, yet every night the dog manages to find his spot. The vet has diagnosed him with "hyper diarrhea". I like call it night shi*ting. You've heard of night eating? I think he has night shit*ing. For the last month he has been on probiotics and an anti-diarrheal medication. He takes half an antidiarrheal pill and a pill probiotic with his dinner.

I guess I can be frank here. Since medication, I can report that his fecal specimens have been firmer and better shaped, therefore much easier to clean the package off of the kitchen floor. Thank God for the bulk pack of Clorox antibacterial sanitary wipes at Costco. I might have a nervous breakdown without such a tool to clean up this daily occurrence. And I'm going through them about as quick as anything the dog eats and then goes through him. 

And its not getting any better. We are about to see the vet again for possibly the 5th time since this started and I'm beside myself with the prospect of getting up in the morning to face what awaits me. And here's the thing, this is not about me, it's about him and his health. The vet says his weight is fine and he does not seem to be suffering any ill effects from the chronic pooping. That is good, but WE are suffering from the amount of work and unsanitary aspect of this entire shi*ty situation.

I guess what it all comes down to is love. 

Love is a funny thing, because it makes you do things you would normally never do. Cleaning up dog poop daily is not the way I foresaw my dog living out his golden years, but if this is what I've got then this is what I've got. Like it or not, I love that dog more than I love his problem. So I trudge on, like a trooper hoarding Clorox wipes and supermarket bags to dispose of the problem and hope for the best. Tough sh*it, right?

Maybe it's psychological? But I draw the line at a doggie shrink because if this continues, I'm the only one who's going to need a shrink.