Wednesday, March 18, 2009

The third one is the one...

I have often heard the phrase (and joke), "It's the third one that does you in." The third one... the exact one I didn't want to have around here, hence the drastic move to sterilize myself after the second. Everyone kept asking, "But how do you know you don't want another one??"

Because, my friends, it's the third one that does you in. Your stomach. Your hips. Your sanity.

So, I have two kids. And now I have a dog. I have spoken at great length here about my affection for the dog - the poor lost soul who needed a home and countless dollars worth of medical attention. And I have told Scott that Buddy is the third child for which I just didn't have the patience. A dog is much easier than a child in many ways. They are cheaper, or at least I think they are supposed to be. And one doesn't actually have to share their own body with a dog to obtain them. Major plus in my book. But I will admit that having Buddy around is more like having a third child than I dreamed possible.

Buddy spends the bulk of his time on top of the deck outside my kitchen window when I am the only one at home. I would like to think he wishes to be close to me. In fact, I believe that Buddy would be in my lap for the entire day if it were allowed. At night, when Scott and I sit outside in our swing, Buddy paces back and forth in front of us until Scott gets up to go inside for a moment. And as soon as the door closes behind Scott, Buddy quickly jumps up into the two-seater swing right beside me and lays his sweet Buddy head in my lap. Precious, isn't it?? Such a sweet little heart this dog has. And he has claimed me as his own. And I love him like the third child I never wanted.

Earlier today, as I fixed a plate of food for my lunch, I looked out the kitchen window, and there he was, lying under the window, napping. Ahhh, sweet dog. Sweet, sweet Buddy. He lifted that precious head he so often lays in my lap, and I notice he has something on his face - on either side of his mouth and down his neck. I ate my lunch and then went outside to see what he had gotten himself into. It was dry, a greyish-brown. Not only was it on either side of his head, but he had some on his back - two spots. I could tell he had been wallering in something. I'll stop myself here, because, to be quite honest, I am not quite sure that wallering is really a word. If this were a game of Scrabble, I would urge you to challenge me. But it's not, so we'll continue. But do note that waller or wallering is most definitely a real word in any good, Southern lady's vernacular.

As I stated, Buddy had obviously been wallering in something. Could it have been a toy left out in the mud and rain?? I didn't think so. Could it have been dirt?? I inspected the yard and didn't find any areas that seemed to be dug up or disturbed. And then it hit me. I was horrified.

Buddy had wallered in his own poop.

But, would Buddy really do that? I mean a dog smart enough to make it all the way across I-65 without dying - would he really waller in his own waste? I did the ole' smell check and instantly confirmed my biggest fear. Indeed, it was poop. And indeed, it was all over his sweet Buddy head that would not be lying itself in my lap until it didn't smell like a day old diaper. But I couldn't remember how long I had to wait after the neutering to bathe him. They had told me, but I just couldn't remember. Surely just a week, but the last thing I need is another trip to the darn vet due to a stupid bath. So I decided to do what anyone else would do - I sponge bathed him.

I filled a big plastic bowl with dog shampoo and water, found an old rag, and I carried outside to remove evidence of the horrible deed. All the while I am scolding Buddy for wallering in his own feces. How he isn't a nasty stray dog anymore with heart worms. How he needs to act like a dog with a good home and not smell like a poopy monster. As soon as the phrase poopy monster came out of my mouth, I stood there in disbelief. I was sponge bathing a freaking dog covered in his own feces and talking to him as though he were a person.


It's definitely the third one that does you in.

1 comment:

RunnerMom said...

You are killing me. And yes, it is the third one that does you in!!!