T Nation

Poo Wars

My dog, Chelsea, is getting up in years and has trouble controlling her bowels. This is a story about what I like to call…

Poo Wars

I smelled it from a distance. I knew what it was. I knew what I had to do.

I went up stairs in the living room with a fresh roll of paper towels. From a haven about 10 feet away I took a deep breathe and prepared for battle. It was go time. I ran in with the three-ply paper towel in my hand and knelt down for a quick scoop when I saw that my enemies were many. Three turds sat in a pile of shedded dog hair on the green living room rug. Confident that I could take on all three with a single scoop I made my first attempt. Failure. The smallest of the three turds evaded my attack and rolled into a new, more tactical defensive position. With two of the warm logs still clamped in tight I scooped again to try for the little rascal. Success! Now to finish the job. Still holding my breathe I broke into a full sprint for the door. Small gasps and grunts of utter disgust escaped from my lungs as I raced wide eyed to victory. Out the door, into the breezeway, and out into the yard I fled. With a great, yet precise thrust I flung the demons high into the air and sealed their fate in a grassy hell!

Please with my work, I strolled casually back to the garage where I retired my quilted paper weapon to the trash can. I headed back inside for one finishing touch. To the kitchen cabinet I went… time to unsheathe the almighty Febreeze. I took the Febreeze back to the scene of the crime and loosed a great cloud of the pleasant odor assassin into the air. I felt that this job called for few extra squirts, so I sprayed on, fearing not the risk of overkill. Time for a test. I stood up straight, chest out, chin up, and took a deep breathe. It was the kind of breathe that God takes just before he blows hurricanes and tornadoes into being. It was long and it was deep, and the results came immediately. Pungent! Absolutely foul! What did I do wrong? I surveyed my surroundings, and that’s when I saw her. Lurking in the shadow of the sofa she was. She was the mother of all turds. The three little hellions that I had just defeated were merely her offspring, and now she was mad. She was six feet if she was an inch and forty pounds if she was an ounce. I quickly dropped back into a defensive position and planned my next move. This was going to take a lot of Bounty. I grabbed sheet after sheet of the white fluffy shield and just when I thought I had grabbed enough, I grabbed two more sheets for good measure. Time to create the sequel.

With the thick mass of paper in my hand I ran in for the kill. It felt as if I was grabbing an entire hotdog, bun and all, hot out of the oven. It was heavy and not all that solid, one bad, jerky move and I could turn one mammoth enemy into a thousand smaller ones. I bolted towards the door, and that’s when God punished me for my greediness with the Febreeze. As soon as I stepped off of the carpet and onto the tile floor, I learned that my Febreeze cloud covered a larger area than I had anticipated. My feet slipped on the slick, lubed linoleum and sent my lower half up and my upper half down. The hang time was incredible! Yet as my life flashed before my eyes, I held fast and true. CRASH! I landed and broke into a slide. Innocent chairs and bar stools fell needlessly, the horrible consequences of war. As I slid, my right hand stayed locked in an upright position still clamped securely onto her majesty, yet she did not crumble, she was structurally sound after all! It was as if I was pointing to heaven and offering up a rank sacrifice to God. The crash had knocked what air I had had left in my lungs right out of me. I almost breathed in; it would have been the end of me. Get up man! Don’t let it end like this! Not here, not now. I got back to on my feet. In utter lung lock, yet forbidding myself to breathe the poisonous air, I began my sprint once again, this time weary of any unstable floor surfaces. Back outside at last. With the same skilled toss as before I lobbed the gigantic turd through the sky and sent it to rest along side my fence where many of its fellow turds had fallen in past battles. Back to the trash can to retire the paper towels, and back to the kitchen to hit up the Febreeze. When all was said and done I sat back, calmed my breathing, wiped the sweat from my brow, and thought to myself, “Man, I really gotta take a shit.”

Been there, done that. Mrs. P and I (and our three junior P-vixens) recently lost our faithful old Labrador retriever (at age 14). She had the same problem. I have three suggestions: First, forget the paper towels – use the plastic bag that they deliver your newspaper in. Second, forget the Fabreeze – got to the pet store and buy the deodorizer that is made specifically for dog feces and urine. It does a much better job. Third, spend a lot of time with her. She deserves it.

Well that was one fucked up story. Good imagination though and nice writing skills. Maybe you should write childrens stories about shit. It could be a national bestseller. If you do I get 10% of the profits since it was my idea…

:slight_smile: groove

groove that was no imagination. it really happened.

A for effort and length, B for composition, F for subject matter. Can’t really say that I want to read odes to shit on the forum here…

Dear god was that ever hilarious. Made my day:)

Ah, the trials of a pet who thinks the world is its toilet. I must agree though, go to a petstore and pick up a bottle of ‘Nature’s Miracle’ or ‘Simple Solution’ both are enzyme based and completely get rid of smell and any residue you miss. Oh, and when I do the pickup, I use a plastic grocery bag with two paper towels in it - grab and then thrun it inside out around your hand, fast and easy with no danger of escape.

Oh, and very well written!