Jimmy Bad Dance

It’s so peculiar that I have gone from a life of relatively small, man made messes to dealing with doggy accidents on an almost daily basis. Today as I lay on the couch with Tessa I heard a noise from the kitchen. It sounded like a cat pawing at litter or when you are squeezing the last of a ketchup bottle onto your fries. Turns out it was more like the later because Bones decided to have fucking diarrhea on the doormat, 20 fucking minutes after I took him out to go potty. It was like a pile of milk chocolate left in the hot summer sun.

This must be some type of pay back for someone I have wronged in my life. Or I wonder if I’ve been cursed. Regardless, Bones is getting closer to cement shoe territory every single day.

Yesterday the brown dog, Bones, jumped onto the dryer door (my fault I had it opened) and from there he jumped on top of the dryer. He then ate the cats food. Then ate a bag of dog treats. Then he put his head in the dog treat bowl, etc, etc.

Last night I came to bed around 12:30. I opened the door and it smelled like farts. I got into the bed and opened the covers and it smelled like fucking death. It was like opening a burrito with a dead dog inside but instead of a dead dog it was fucking farts. Fucking. Dog. Farts. 

#everywherefuckingwhere.

So I go to sleep.

3:00 AM: “Honey, get up. Can you take the dog out? He shit fucking everywhere. I’ll clean.”

I get up. Take him out. Diarrhea all over the room. Carpet, ruined.

We go outside - me, Bones and my dog, Wedge. Bones, he prances around and farts himself into a circle and craps out a soft pile of poop everywhere. He farts when he shits. It sounds like someone trying to blow mud through a straw. He looks at me. I nod my head in approval. I say to him, “Just. Stop. Be good.” We go inside and go to sleep.

4:50 AM: “WHAT THE FUCK! WHY THE FUCKING FUCK! Can you …”

“Don’t worry about it”

I take him out side. Wedge comes with. He prances the prance of life and then starts farting again. And now the cat is awake inside the house. I can hear her little bell around her neck. Her mews have gotten louder. She is now by the screens on the windows. Clawing at them. Bones can’t see her but he hears it. It is distracting him. He keeps running back and forth. He wants to poo but he doesn’t know where or how. He can’t be distracted or he wont do it. I think to myself, would I have this same struggle if I was him? Knowing where to poo and to not think about all the outside noise? Side note: If I ever had to poop on command I would just think of Eddie Vedder’s face. Don’t know why but it relaxes me.

When he settles on a spot the cat pulls the screen. This forces him to go to another spot. The cat pulls the screen again. He starts the whole process again. Wedge and I watch him do this for a good four minutes. My one hand shoved into my mesh shorts, smashed between my gigantic thighs for warmth. The other covering my face. My right eye peering out from between the crack in my middle and index fingers. Under my breath I mutter, “fuck you. fuck fuck you.”

When my darling girls dog’s are dead, 9 years from now, I will have the biggest dead-dog party you have ever seen and I will invite the world to this thing. I shit you not, no fucking pun intended.