A little background: So, here I am at the computer trying (unsuccessfully) to catch up on my bazillion work and personal e-mails. I’m also watching a DVD, trying to raise bail for my MDA lock-up and just unwinding from my 11-hour workday at MoJo’s. (Hey, I’m a multi-tasker.) I’m also trying to choose a subject for my next Dog Blog when it hits me right in the face. Literally.
The dogs and I had spent the entire day at MoJo’s. From 7am to 6:30pm. Me because MoJo’s is trying to save money. The dogs because Jerritt is visiting family in Jacksonville. The dogs LOVE MoJo’s and I LOVE my dogs but I do not love my dogs at MoJo’s…
They each have strange mannerisms that are manageable at home but magnified at MoJo’s. Chloe barks for my attention (in a high-pitched “Rant! Rant! Rant!” voice); Tetsuma runs, paces and cries to get my affection; Misha jumps at the fence every time I come by with a dog; and Paco eats poop.
Now, Paco has always been a poop eater. And we’ve always had a dog gas problem. But poop gas is different from food gas. It smells…riper. It has a full-bodied, gloopie (yeah, I made up that word), baloney-that’s-been-sitting-in-the-sun smell. Most gas clouds dissipate as they move. Poop gas stays tight and fragrant, moving about in a ball that stays as strong as when it was born. It comes fast and furious and hits you in the face right when you’re trying to get work done/write a dog blog. Paco disperses the silent, deadly gas while Misha dispenses the loud, but not-so-smelly flatulence. They are both going alternately as I type. Mostly unbeknownst to the gasser, the unsuspecting gassee (that’s me) is suddenly hit with a poop bomb that makes the gassee squint up the eyes and leave the immediate vicinity, if not the room. Sometimes, though, the gasser will get an unpleasant whiff or sensation him/herself and look back quizzically at his/her butt. At these times, the laugh can distract from the rank smell.
Another similar example is one of my all-time favorite MoJo’s Backyard moments. I was in the big dog area where there were not too many big dogs playing. Suddenly Jerritt and I hear the all too familiar sound of doggie diarrhea. Explosive doggie diarrhea. Luckily we were both witness to this happening because otherwise no one would have believed the tale. KD (we will call her KD for her protection) had pooped on the floor and was running wildly from her own butt while looking back at it in horror and disgust. And then it happened again. Pppfffttt!!! KD didn’t know what was going on or why it was happening near her rear-end! She pooed and ran, pooed and ran, and after each poo, she would turn and check her hind-end to see if that was in fact the culprit of the sound, smell and poo eruption. This cycle occured no less than 4 times. Meanwhile, Jerritt and I don’t know whether to be doubled over in hysterics or worried that KD can’t seem to get away from her own butt. (We later decide that this is one of the best MoJo’s moments EVER and chuckle about it frequently). (And don’t worry, KD recovered fully. In fact, I’m sure she felt much better after the diarrhea disaster.) So while I sit here, reminiscing, I find myself actually grateful that it is just dog gas that I’m suffering because it could be much, much worse. Goodnight to you, KD, and Godspeed.