Mr. Poopy

You know those moments when you think to yourself, “this is a bad idea”?

Because of his sensitive gastrointestinal tract, I have to buy Buddy the dog specially-formulated dog food from the vets. It costs a fortune but saves both of us a lot of grief in poop messes.  As fate would have it, I ran out of his special food on Labour day weekend and had to pick up some ordinary dog food at the grocery store.  Enter the bad idea.


The miracle cleaner.

Two mornings later, I awoke to doggy diarrhea all over the carpet.  I stopped feeding Buddy the crappy food (pun fully intended) and decided to cover the carpet with puppy pads until the poop assault was over.  The next morning I awoke to more poop–and none of it on the puppy pads.  (Apparently, carpets are better landing zones for diarrhea than disposable paper.) So I spent the next few mornings, sans coffee, cleaning the carpet with Folex (a great carpet cleaner, by the way.)

After a week Mr. Poopy was still leaving pudding poops on the carpet, so the vet was summoned and medication was prescribed. The new medication stopped the night messes, but Mr. Poopy was still not in good form. Off to the emergency vets we go, where Mr. Poopy was force-fed barium (which has a prophylactic effect on irritated bowels) and, if that wasn’t bad enough, subjected to the indignity of having his nether regions probed.  Another prescription was written, and about $400 and several carpet cleanings later, Mr. Poopy is finally on the road to recovery.


Mr. Poopy, convalescing.

He still hasn’t forgiven me for the anal probe.


Bath Time

I took Buddy the dog for a long walk around the hood the other day. He was thrilled. I think dogs forget that the “out there” exists when they haven’t seen much of it for months.

All that melting snow turned everything to muck, and most of it stuck to Buddy. Much to his dismay, this necessitated a B-A-T-H in the T-U-B. Buddy hates having a B-A-T-H and wonders why he can’t stay D-I-R-T-Y. I’ve tried to explain it to him, but he still prefers  D-I-R-T  to   W-A-T-E-R.

Apartment living makes the B-A-T-H a bit of a challenge.  I no longer have a laundry tub so I have to use the bathtub.  Once in, Buddy prefers to stand as far away from faucet (and me) as possible.  This time, though, I had a plan:  I got in with him.  Buddy never saw that coming.

He survived his ordeal, though, and once out of the porcelain container of death he was a happy camper.  He plopped himself on the towel and started falling asleep before his head hit the ground.



ImageI have to be honest:  I love animals more than people.  In fact, I can’t say I love people; I love certain people, but as a species we’re basically a royal pain in the arse.

I love animals because they have no pretensions or hangups about who they are.  They are instinctively Zen, living in the moment with a easy mindfulness that would put Thich Nhat Hanh to shame.

I don’t get people who don’t love animals.  A few years ago, I was getting some work done in my house, and the contractor brought an additional painter to speed things up.  First off, you have to understand that Buddy loves people.  And I mean LOVES.  When anyone knew comes in the house, he gets excited to the point of insanity.  I usually warn people beforehand that I have an insanely happy dog, and it’s best that they pet him so they can continue their visit  unaccosted.  Should that new human ignore my advice, Buddy will clamp down on the person’s pant leg and tug until they pet him–and pet him and pet him.  Yes, he’s spoiled.  And I’ve tried to correct this behaviour, but, like I say, he’s nuts.  And I’m sure Buddy is convinced that all humans are here specifically to worship him.  He’s that cute, and that cocky.

Anyway, one particular day during the reno, Kevin (the contractor) brought some assistance in the form of one grouchy, animal-hating painter.  Now, I know that not everyone loves animals, but they like them, even if it’s just a little.  Not this guy, apparently:  he was totally impervious to the little monster–and I’m telling you, Buddy is impossible to ignore.  Buddy might as well been as pesky mosquito–although I venture to say that the mosquito would have gotten a swat or two.  Buddy tormented this guy for the rest of the day.  I loved every minute of it.

Buddy goes by various nicknames; Bugsy is my favourite.  Sometimes it’s Bugs, for short. My father gave him that little moniker and it really fits.  (Ape-Shit would fit better, but it’s not polite).

ImageBuddy has certain fears that make no sense to humans, but apparently make perfect sense to Buddy.  Buddy knows, for instance, that the return air vent on the first stair riser will suck him into the furnace, so he can only go upstairs when the furnace isn’t running.   He also knows that objects that passed his security check at noon seemingly morph into something sinister at night. Fallen branches in the yard, the corner mailbox, a discarded delivery box, you name it:  All will send Buddy into DEFCON 1.  My neighbours must love me.

For all of Buddy’s bravado, however, he’s a big chicken, although if you were to ask him, he would say he’s just cautious. My family room and kitchen are open concept, and to enter the family room you take a step down. Unlike the kitchen flooring which is hardwood, the step was carpeted like the rest of the family room. When Clancy was a kitten, he tore the carpeting on that step to shreds. So, a few years ago I had it covered in hardwood to match the kitchen.

Buddy didn’t touch that step for over a year.  Seriously.  He would catapult off the kitchen floor to enter the family room.  And his legs are like 3 inches long.

Things are looking up though.  Just recently, I noticed that Buddy was actually using the step instead of relying upon his Olympic-style leap. See?  Cautious.

I have tons of Buddy stories.  I just thought a share a couple of them with you now.  Hope you enjoyed them.