It’s 1:16 in the morning and I have been cutting the crap for the last 45 minutes.
I have not become overwhelmed with minimalist zeal that demanded immediate attention. I wish.
Blue had another poop-splotion.
It’s been a long time since he’s had one of those. I think this is his third in the year-and-a-half we’ve had him. A Great Dane with gastric distress is no laughing matter.
The first time was because our crazy painter (and I mean certifiable) fed Blue a couple pounds of carnitas (spicy Mexican fried pork). The second time had to do with a bacterial infection.
This time was all my fault.
I boiled a turkey carcass for stock and I reserved the meat for Blue. I thought that it would be mild and not fatty enough to not irritate his stomach.
I watched a documentary on the tallest Great Dane (Giant George) and he eats a rotisserie chicken every day, and those are really greasy and salty.
Lonny warned me about this. He said it would upset Blue’s stomach and I laughed him off, but I’m not laughing now.
Blue’s pacing woke us up and Lonny said, “It smells really bad in the hall. I think Blue had an accident.”
I don’t know if it is my mother’s reflex to start breathing through my mouth at the hint of a possibility that there might be a poop situation, but I didn’t initially smell anything. “I don’t smell anything. I’m sure it’s fine.”
But then I went downstairs and Blue wouldn’t follow me, he was too ashamed. That was my first clue. I turned the lights on and I started to make out the extent of the disaster. There was diarrhea everywhere. His bed, the hall, all over the carpet … everywhere. At least it wasn’t in Testiclese’s bed.
It wasn’t as bad as when I took care of a neighbor’s giant German Shepard. He was K-9 unit police dog, very sensitive and only took commands in German. No joke. I was terrified of the dog but his owner was hot so …
Ingo (his real name) did not like being left at home and crapped all over the shag carpet in his basement. All. Over. Who knew a dog had that much poop in him? And it was that full-on 70’s style deep shag, too.
I was young at the time and cleaned it all up, it took hours and was beyond nasty.
Looking back, I can’t believe I did that, and for no money. I was doing what I thought was right. My neighbor was lucky it was me and not anyone else who would have closed the door and walked away from that bad boy.
So compared to Ingo, this wasn’t so bad.
Last night I cleaned up the mess with bucket after bucket of hot, soapy water. I felt more than a little glad that I did not chuck the box of vinyl exam gloves. A containment suit would have been better.
Pussy Galore (AKA That Fucking Cat) watched me work in what can only be described as sadistic pleasure while Blue suffered silently on his other bed.
He felt so bad that he couldn’t even look at me. Observing the scene of the accident, I can say that this was out of his control. I feel bad for him and his poor tummy.
He never has accidents in the house unless they are medical in nature. I know it wounds him to the core to do anything wrong.
Lonny is sleeping blissfully unaware of my toil. It was my fault so I consider it my mess to deal with. I only wish that it wasn’t one degree out right now so I could air out the house.
Considering the literal crap cutting I did tonight, and that I’ll be on 24 hour poop-watch (sleeping fully clothed, in my boots, on the couch), I’m going to take tomorrow off.