Canine Accidents

My wife had a pet Collie when we got married, and he was old, sixteen to be exact. He suffered from health problems, most notably, ballistic diarrhea. Add to this that he had a lousy sense of direction, and that he got tired and laid down frequently, and you get a dog that tended to be covered in his own poo.

As all of these ballistic events occurred on the tile floor of our apartment's kitchen, which we called "The Rocket Range", we mopped the floor and washed the collie daily. The problem was that he began to do this three times a day. I would come home from work and give him the 5:30 bath, followed by the 8:00 and then The Niner. It got to be too much, and I told my wife this one day. She said:

"Lets pray that there are solid turds on the floor instead of diarrhea".

I found praying for solid turds funny, but was desperate. We prayed. Hard.

When we got home, and opened the door, we found solid turds. I have never been so happy to see a turd on the kitchen tile in my life.

After the collie, we got a mutt. He has not had a health related diarrhea problem yet. His bouts with Montezuma have all been self inflicted.

One memorable event occurred after he ate about two cups of uncooked millet that he managed to pull onto the floor. All was well that evening, but in the middle of the night, the millet swelled from two cups to about four cups in volume. We heard him whimpering in the middle of the night, but due to the lack of his customary "I need out" bark, we left him alone.

As the early riser, I discovered the cause of the whimpering. Our mutt's digestive system must be about two cups in volume. I can only imagine what a carnivore's digestive tract must feel like after gorging on dry birdseed, then drinking copious amounts of water. Some time in the middle of the night, he couldn’t hold it, and he went. He went on the floor. He went on his bed. He went on the wall, on the fridge door. He even went in his food and water bowls. Luckily, we pen him in the kitchen at night. He went on the dog gate. It was obvious that when he went, he went under pressure. There was millet mixed with poo on the wall sans smears well above the height of his afflicted posterior. It looked like he had tried to fend off a zombie apocalypse with a Remington 1100 Tactical loaded with crap and millet, and he had piss poor aim.

Gagging, I cleaned up millet and crap for thirty minutes, and then took a look at the dog. He did not look happy, he had an urgent expression on his face. I give him credit for staying clean. The Collie would have wallowed in the vile mix and come out looking like a cross between a millet sprig and a wookie. The mutt is smarter, and had stayed clean by laying in a two foot square safe zone. I leashed him up and took him out.

He did his "John Deere" impression and pulled me to his favorite patch of grass. He immediately assumed the position, and let out another high velocity string of millet laden bolides. He paused for a moment and his legs began to shake under the strain. He passed another round, and gave me a mournful look, as he hunkered there, trembling. My wife took him out later and said that he gave a repeat performance that afternoon, but the millet onslaught was showing signs of abatement.

He has not gotten into millet since.