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I chose this life

I Chose This Life-

The perpetrator.

Gus and I are currently embroiled in an epic battle of poop wills.

Not surprisingly, he’s winning.

(Fair warning: this post talks about dog poop. Actually, it is an entire post about nothing else but dog poop, and dog poop alone. Sorry.)

Our old-lady house comes with a very neat, very tidy old-man backyard. The type that was always mowed, impeccably maintained. They even put a little brick border around the edge of the lawn so the mower would get right to the sides without needing a weed whacker. I mean really. 

It is laid out in two portions, which I have helpfully rendered with the help of high-end illustration software available exclusively to bloggers of a certain calibre.

poopSo, in this finely wrought architectural rendering you will see the garage in the back left corner, then a lovely large patch of pristine grass. Between the grass and the garage is a cement path, which leads to a large cement pad at the back of the house. Between the garage and the house on the left side is a smaller, shadier patch of grass. Also pristine, but less visible and generally out of the way, in the backyard sense of things.

And then we have Gus.

Gus has what can only be called a defective colon. Everything and anything gives him diarrhea (I’m SORRY). Too much running, excitement, stress, strange food, normal food, breathing, fur, sunlight – it all seems to contribute to intestinal distress. We are not entirely negligent dog owners though, and have made numerous attempts over the years to rectify this situation. Why just last week I gingerly loaded a ziploc full of his filth and paid almost $200 to our vet for the privilege of being told that he has a sensitive stomach.

That’s half a kilim rug! AGH!

So in between exorbitantly priced vet visits which tell us nothing, we just ignore it, because seriously Gus, get your shit together! (LITERALLY).

Dog poop is a disgusting part of dog ownership on the best days, but when the poop doesn’t even scoop it just sort of…smears, and never disappears entirely – that’s some next-level business right there.

SO upon moving in I designated the left patch of grass as the Gus zone. He could be free to befoul that area in whatever disgusting way he saw fit, leaving the larger part of the lawn for Olive to frolic upon without fear of stepping into and possibly being swallowed by a large Gus patty.

From the first day we moved in, several times I day I would take him outside on a leash, lead him to the designated area and praise him like a crazy person when he did his business.

And several times a day, he would sneak out, or Adam would let him out WITHOUT a leash, where he would shit all over the pristine portion of the yard with wild abandon.

I trust you need no explanation of why this would give me no small amount of rage. I had a SYSTEM!

So we have engaged in a battle of wills, my dog and I. I keep trying in vain to make him poop on the side, and he will stall and stall and stall and pretend that he isn’t just bursting at the seams with excrement until he finds a tiny five second window where I am distracted or Adam lets him out (the SYSTEM, Adam! The SYSTEM!) and then he rushes to the big patch of grass faster than I’ve ever seen him move like it’s his duty in life to see just how huge this throbbing forehead vein of mine can get.

He literally made eye contact with me the other night as I looked out the kitchen window while doing dishes. He stood in the middle of the yard, and of course he was pooping. I, like a normal, rational person, became instantly incensed. I may or may not have leaned out the window and hissed something obscene at him, and then I swear to god when he saw me watching he looked RIGHT AT ME and then started walking around the yard. While still pooping.


I Chose This Life-

Don’t be fooled.

I just don’t even know how this is my life. THIS IS MY LIFE. I chose this life. And by god I will win this one if it kills me.