Do you remember the Saturday Night Live skit, Oops I Crapped My Pants? It was always a favorite of mine and I still enjoy it to this day. Check it out if you've never seen it, it will be worth your time.Pat beat me home from work today, as I was at a hair appointment until 6:30 p.m. When I pulled into our driveway, I immediately noticed the bottom, plastic part of Grady's crate in our driveway. Next I saw the puddles of soapy water and my clean, wet dog. Oops, Grady must have crapped his crate (again). We've been through this song and dance more times than I can count over the last year. You walk in the back door and the smell hits you like a freight train. Next you have to figure out whether or not it's all over him and whether or not he can walk out of the crate or if you have to carry him out of the crate (which is no longer an option for me since he now weighs over 60 pounds).
We've been watching his movements for the past few days, waiting for the wedding invitations to make their "reappearance" and as of last night, still hadn't seen them. While I haven't actually talked to Pat, since he is probably at the YMCA (I'm sure he has some built up aggression to work out after coming home to a *&#@! hole), but if I had to guess at the reason for the accident, the wedding invitations would be my first guess. I know that paper is biodegradable, but in moderation. Also, cardstock is probably on its own playing field as far as the digestive tract goes.
I've never had a dog before with such a sensitive stomach, and in my lifetime, we've had a total of 9 before Grady. But then again, I've never had a dog before that eats such strange things (i.e. socks, underwear, paper, wrappers, plastic lids, sticks, mulch, dirt, etc.). Don't get me wrong, I've seen dogs chew on sticks before. No big deal, right? Maybe for some dogs, but not for Grady.
I took him to work with me last Friday, the last day of the illusive "summer hours" at work, which I soon realized were just some ploy to get me to take the job. Everything was going great. People kept stopping in my office to say hello to me, telling me how well behaved he is for only being one year old. It made me feel so good to hear them say that! I was feeling high and mighty about this well behaved dog we trained until I saw a pile over in the corner. It was about the size of a softball and looked like some nomb was trying to build a campfire in my office. It was a thrown-up pile of sticks! But the sticks were still so big and in such original form that if it weren't for the yellow bile that accompanied them, I wouldn't have known they had ever been through a dog's digestive system. So no, Grady doesn't chew on sticks. He bites them in half and swallows them whole.
I'm not trying to re-write Marley and me or take any of John Grogan's thunder with this blog. Believe me, if I never had to write about Grady's eating habits or bowel movements again, I would be thrilled! But this is the unfortunate reality of my, I mean our, life. Whether I like it or not, taking flashlights out in the backyard at night to inspect Grady's movements is a regular occurrence in this house. We give high fives to each other for healthy stools and console whoever is going to be home from work first the next day when there are unhealthy ones.
So when you feel inclined to ask (again) when Pat and I plan on having kids, please remind yourself, we already have one and he just crapped in his crate (again).
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