Turd in a Snack Bag

As promised, here is a post from the pseudonym blog. While strange, it's funny. I guess I don't know why I can't post funny over here.

This was originally posted on October 8, 2007.

Here it is:

I took my Hairy Monster to the vet this morning; it's annual check-up time.

Because today is Columbus Day, the kids are home from school and that means that we didn't get up as early as usual. And that, in turn, means that no one ate breakfast on the normal schedule. That includes the dog. And eating breakfast late means the morning shit is late, too.

Generally speaking, I don't give a shit when the dog takes a shit, as long as she goes far enough from the house that I don't have to smell it or step in it (luckily, we have enough room to run that I don't have to know about it at all - most of the time). However, a stool sample is required to check for intestinal parasites. So today I had to give a shit when (and where) she gave a shit.

('Tapeworm' just doesn't have the same happy sound as 'intestinal parasite'.)

So I fed her -late- and let her out to do her business. I took a cup of coffee outside with me and I watched.

Scouting for shit.

I waited. And waited. And waited some more.

My coffee was gone and still no shit.

I brought her back in and made her sit with me while I paid bills and straightened my desk and fixed my calendar for the week.

We went back out. Same shit: NO shit.

We came back in.

I should have remembered to ask the vet about the acceptable age of the required stool sample.

Does it have to be fresh?

Can it be from last night or yesterday morning?

What about week old shit? Like when I actually call to make the appointment and I'm thinking about collecting shit and reminding myself that I have to do it: I'm thinking about it right then; can I collect the shit then and save it until I come in?

Should I refrigerate it? Or does that kill the worms? Do they have to be alive to detect them?

It would be much easier to put a turd in a Tupperware container (make that a Gladware container - they're cheaper and I won't mind throwing it out so much) and save it. That way I'm not out waiting for a bowel movement right before I have to leave.

Late for shit. (Try using that as an excuse, kids!)

I'm the only one who actually reheats and eats leftovers around here (I pack them for my lunch every day), so it's not like someone else would come across the lonely little nearly-frozen, potentially worm-y turd in the refrigerator.

I had given up on collecting a fresh sample; it was late and we had to go.

I cut up a piece of bologna and put it in the Gladware container instead. If she couldn't take a shit, at least she would have a reason to act like she has some manners. Then I grabbed her leash and although she'd already been out several times this morning, she got all excited and drool-y.

Like normal.

And then I showed her the bologna and she jumped around and drooled some more.

If going for a walk is a treat, going for a ride is the doggy equivalent of a banana split.

She was so excited she took a shit.

Which is what I wanted, but not when I wanted.

I put her in the car and told her to wait.

Luckily, I had the bologna, so she listened.

I couldn't bear to part with the bologna because then she would act like an asshole without a brain in the veterinarian's office.

And that makes me feel like an asshole. Plus, it makes me mad to feel like an asshole.

So, I opened the trunk to see what else I could find to deposit my warm collection in.

Being the good mother that I am, I always have plenty of shit in the trunk. Usually garbage and cast-off snack remnants from various soccer games and football games and miscellaneous activities (if I were a better mother, I'd probably clean out the car, too, but there's a limit).

The best I could do was a snack-sized zipper bag. So the snack-sized zipper bag it was.

Nothing like a warm, mushy turd in a see-through plastic bag.

Being a mother, I've had plenty of experience with gross stuff. Part of the job description is 'Shit Scooper' and 'Vomit Vacuum.' After enough years of being the main household cleaner-upper of various body excrement, the gag reflex becomes much less pronounced.

This morning that was very fortunate.

I think the veterinary technician who took the bag of shit from me must have been a mother, too.