You might think, given the title of the post, that it's about the baby. You'd be wrong.
This morning Baxter woke up around 5:45, so I fed him and put him back in his crib so he could sleep a little longer. I then shuffled into the kitchen to feed the cat in hopes of heading off the imminent incessant meowing.
Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle. Squish.
"Oh, nasty," I think to myself. I stepped in a hairball. I turn on the light and hike my leg up into the sink. As I'm washing my foot off, I look back at the hairball, but there is no hairball. There is instead big pile of dog diarrhea. Bloody dog diarrhea.
I stepped in bloody dog shit.
See, Buster reacts to stress in a GI-tractual fashion, so he's been off his kibble and loose-poopin' ever since we picked him up from the kennel. Apparently last night he puked in his crate so BK let him out, and I guess he had to go. GOOD DOG, BUSTER, for going in the kitchen -- can you imagine trying to clean bloody dog poop out of cream-coloured* carpeting?
We went to the vet this morning (with a zip-locked "sample" in hand!) to rule out things like worms and cancer, and Buster was given the all-clear. Now all we have to do is just never go anywhere again, and we're set!
(Joshua Wanat, meanwhile, seems to have dropped his normal Fuck All Y'all attitude in favor of needy stress, the result being his normal glossy coat has become increasingly nasty and matted. He got a bath yesterday and today, and I swear there shouldn't be any Joshua Wanat left because half of him went down the drain both times.
Never. Going. Anywhere. Again.)
* Shout-out to my Queen's English peeps!
This morning Baxter woke up around 5:45, so I fed him and put him back in his crib so he could sleep a little longer. I then shuffled into the kitchen to feed the cat in hopes of heading off the imminent incessant meowing.
Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle. Squish.
"Oh, nasty," I think to myself. I stepped in a hairball. I turn on the light and hike my leg up into the sink. As I'm washing my foot off, I look back at the hairball, but there is no hairball. There is instead big pile of dog diarrhea. Bloody dog diarrhea.
I stepped in bloody dog shit.
See, Buster reacts to stress in a GI-tractual fashion, so he's been off his kibble and loose-poopin' ever since we picked him up from the kennel. Apparently last night he puked in his crate so BK let him out, and I guess he had to go. GOOD DOG, BUSTER, for going in the kitchen -- can you imagine trying to clean bloody dog poop out of cream-coloured* carpeting?
We went to the vet this morning (with a zip-locked "sample" in hand!) to rule out things like worms and cancer, and Buster was given the all-clear. Now all we have to do is just never go anywhere again, and we're set!
(Joshua Wanat, meanwhile, seems to have dropped his normal Fuck All Y'all attitude in favor of needy stress, the result being his normal glossy coat has become increasingly nasty and matted. He got a bath yesterday and today, and I swear there shouldn't be any Joshua Wanat left because half of him went down the drain both times.
Never. Going. Anywhere. Again.)
* Shout-out to my Queen's English peeps!
I just wanted to express my gratitude to everybody who has anything to do with the creation of this resource. Here's my site – rapidshare search engine ( http://filecraft.com ). Will be glad if you give it a try )
Posted by: Yannas | Thursday, August 12, 2010 at 04:57 AM