Thursday, September 1, 2011

Dog tip #1: Crayons Are Not Fully Digestible


We have three dogs, of which one is a little white Bichon named Jojo, but behind her back we regularly referred to as “white devil.” She was nice enough to wake me up at 3:00am to celebrate shitting on the living room floor. Why this little bitch couldn’t wake me up prior to breaking one off on the carpet is beyond me, but nonetheless there I was at 3:00am cleaning up her shit. I assumed the position of pissed off dog owner (on my hands and knees) scrubbing the carpet to remove all "essence of Jojo." It was then I had a flashback to my childhood. Normally when I venture down memory lane, I am lying down on a couch paying someone a lot of money to tell me it was my parent's fault, but this time I couldn't help but laugh even though I was knuckle deep in dog shit.


When I was a kid we had a puppy, as many families do. This puppy was hand delivered to us by Satan himself. He ate everything: crayons, socks, furniture, whatever he could get his mouth around. One night, while everyone was sleeping, he helped himself to a 64 count box of crayons. That morning while my brothers and I were flying out of the house to catch the school bus he sprayed the walls, floor, and baseboards with rainbow-speckled shit. That dog shit on every inch of the baseboard leading to the front door. There was no pretending you didn't see it, he was nice enough to mark the door too! Normally, we would walk right past it. It was a normal occurrence in my house to walk into a room, notice something out of place (including puppy shit on the floor) and walk right out pretending you never saw it. My brothers and I did this often, more so to torture our step-mother, but also because we were fat lazy kids. It is also important to note my step-mother had the most sensitive gag reflex and sense of smell. She gagged over the smell of onion bagels to the point she banned them from the house, she gagged when she had to pick my brothers up after little league football practice because they smelled like sweaty prepubescent boys, and she even gagged when she couldn't stand the smell of her own farts. So you better believe she was gagging when she turned the corner to discover the "shartwork" left by the dog. Between gags, somehow she was able to command us to not take another step out that door. My older brother got away, but she captured my younger brother and I couldn't just leave him behind. So my brother and I assumed the position of pissed off preteen whose morning was now spent cleaning up shit rather than furthering my education.

I guess there is no real point to this story, other than the fact I am still cleaning up shit twenty years later, just not the rainbow speckled variety.