There are some mornings where I wake up and suddenly my stomach has decided that what I had last night for dinner is no longer welcome. This isn’t your regular leisurely morning poo- this is angry poo. The kind of poo where instead of sitting back, relaxing, and playing a lovely round of angry birds or words with friends (double points if you only use bathroom words)- it’s the kind where you are begging for the shit to stop. Literally. Maybe you perspire from the brow, maybe you rock back and forth, or maybe you look to the sky because let’s be honest here, sick tummy poo smells a whole hell of a lot worse than your average run of the mill “I poo every day at 8am” kind of poo.
If you have kids in your house- you know what happens next. Kind of like the clockwork poo- a little voice calls to you. A familiar little voice, and there is no denying what this means. You will be pooping with an audience.
|Funny thing- this is his breed, and exactly what he does
I am not alone!!
A little part of me thought when we got a dog, he would occupy the children so that finally I could drop a deuce in ABSOLUTE peace. Not partial peace- not with voices screeching in the distance for me- but total and complete peace and silence so that my stomach would finally be satisfied that it emptied everything out and wasn’t cut short mid-pinch.
That would just make FAR too much sense to actually happen! Ohhh no, ya see- the dog is similar to a child- he sees me in the bathroom as a captive target. Maybe he realizes that while I can run away- I won’t. It’s all very sneaky and underhanded.
I may be annoyed to never get a moment’s peace when I’m doing my most private of things- but with the dog it’s different. This difference made me realize one thing: my dog is better than my kids.
He does not ask questions. He does not come in begging for food, or help, or a snack, or a glass of water, or tattling on someone else or asking why it “smells like butt,” or questioning what I’m doing, what it looks like, or why. He doesn’t whine if I “take too long”- and I don’t know if it’s because he takes so long to squeeze a loaf that he can appreciate allowance of time- but he just lets me sit until my legs fall asleep if I need to. Patiently. He doesn’t leave and then come back and leave and then come back and then leave and come back and whine about why the results aren’t different or try to get me to fix things that I obviously cannot fix while immobile- and I’m pretty sure if he had opposable thumbs, he’d be more than happy to grab me a roll of butt-wipe instead of groaning about how his “arms are too tired for that.” No way would he see me in the bathroom and run off to destroy the house; he also doesn’t tell me he has to pee or poop while I’m pooping so that I have to cut my poop short so I don’t end up cleaning up his poop too. Oh, and he DEFINITELY does not judge.
He sits there in quiet comforting solitude, occasionally putting his head in my lap as to say “it’s okay. just let it go”
Then again.,. it is weird that he puts his head in my lap while I have swamp ass- but I suppose I will trade awkward poo sniffing for SILENCE! Never stick your nose up at silence.
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@SuperShanFIT at least three times a week. AT. LEAST.
Yeah that's IF I can manage to stay awake pic.twitter.com/Y74ivtDauw
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