This morning Pippa was trying to tell me a secret; a secret about getting sick all over my house. First, I notice she threw up a little in Molly’s crate. This is normal with dogs as it is with children. Things go in and things come out both ways. I clean it up and move on with my morning. After my devotional, I walk into the thickest rank of a smell which was connected to a pill of non-processed dog food and poo so big that no dog Pippa’s size could manage.
Pippa’s poo has always been a topic of shear amazement. I’m not one for poo stories, but it never fails when someone is out walking with us they say “I’ve never see a dog so little poop as much as she does.” Much like a first time mother to a baby girl who is constantly compliment on her child’s “boyish charm”, I just smile and agree. Forget trying to remind them that she’s more a girl than a boy, it’s just the blue jumper and camo boots that give you that vibe. Never mind we call her “Billy” for sort of “Maryanne”.
My mother tells all the ladies she plays drinko bunco with about her unusual stool leavings. “It’s the size of a horse dropping, I swear,” she’ll yell as wine glass + bottle clank together in the background as mood music. Not that my mother is drunk, but we all know when the ladies in the neighborhood get together and are suppose to bring at least one bottle of wine good times are forth coming.
Back to the point: Pippa (my large poo shitting dog) got sick a multiple of three times today. Only one of them happened outside.
It’s funny how feeling sick and a whole bunch of poo brought she and I closer together today. Today my second dog and I bonded. I rubbed her belly, shoved Imodium and Pepto down her throat with a 7 mm syringe (parent’s note this) and let her run off her leash when we were outside.
It’s like when I was little and felt sick, my mom would dote on me making my illness seem like the only reason to love me that closely was for fear bad gas might kill her first born. I would often fake sickness to just come home and have some extra attention. Not to mention being home while I was suppose to be at school meant 5 hours of straight TV watching fun. I became quite the “Price is Right” expert.
In conclusion, no child chould do the nasty things I saw come out of Pippa today or Molly (that’s for another day). So, I think I’m ready for children and should just start adopting them. I got my dogs in Mexico, how hard could it be to get three boys and two girls across the boarder in an unmarked van?
