I’m just going to be honest. I’m in a creative rut. So, it’s time for more reasons why I overindulged in wine this week.
Dog, Owen, has major poo-bum.
This happens when one of my pups decides to really put the SHIT in Shih Tzu. In other words, fluffy white doggy gets severe case of diarrhea, can’t wipe, ergo poo-bum. And when does said diarrhea flare up? Mostly in the middle of the night.
Here’s what this means for me.
I am a severe insomniac under the best of circumstances. However, when I have a lot on my mind — as I currently do — my insomnia goes into overdrive.
Any sound, thought or feeling keeps me awake. This includes clock-ticking, bed-licking (next to poo-bum, this is among the top irritating habits possessed by both of my dogs), and, well, breathing.
I have, on more than one occasion, actually taken a pillow to my husband’s face in an effort to get him to stop snoring. And by “snoring,” I mean the faint “pffff-ing” that escapes his lips while he only-so-slightly mouth-breathes his way through a sleep deep enough it could probably qualify as a coma.
And so imagine my dismay when, every night, right at that delightful moment when never-ending intrusive thoughts and obsessions finally give way to the blurry, thoughtless blank that indicates that sleep is imminent, I am wrenched from the brink by the rudest, most demanding little “WOOF!”
This is Owen’s way of telling me, “GET ME OUTSIDE OR I WILL POOP/PEE RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW. I DON’T CARE THAT YOU JUST WASHED AND WRESTLED THESE KING-SIZED SHEETS BACK ON YOUR BED.” Oh right, did I mention Owen sleeps with us? I may not welcome our children into our bed, but we have two dogs with whom we have co-slept since well before the kids were born.
Every hour, on the hour, for the past few nights, I have woken up to this sound and quite literally leapt out of bed to get the poor 13-year-old pup outside before his bowels are unleashed all over the exact location I (try to) sleep.
But, while I may have it in me to get him outside to poop at 3 AM, I don’t have it in me to then wash his bum at 3:03 AM. Standing out on my back lawn, pantsless and squinting into the darkness, trying to guide my blind, somewhat deaf, somewhat senile little Shih Tzu back into the house with my voice alone when I need to be up for work in an hour or two is one thing. Washing dog bums in my kitchen sink at that hour is another.
After a couple of days of this, desperate, I bought and administered “Pet Pectillin,” an anti-diarrheal, probiotic type medication aimed at relieving symptoms of the runs in pets. Amusingly, the medication is indicated for dogs, cats and… BIRDS? Is diarrhea an actual issue for birds? Isn’t their poop just… sort of… like that?
Bird trots or not, I do know what dog poop is supposed to look like, and it’s not what was starting to get left in streaks all over our couch and bed. And so I channeled my inner veterinarian (my paternal grandfather was, in fact, a large animal vet, so I felt this should be in my blood), and loaded up the oral syringe with this vanilla-flavored medicine (I would love to see the research that indicated that vanilla was a tested-and-proven favorite flavor among animals) and went in for the kill.
Have any of you ever tried to give a dog medicine by mouth? When google imaging Pet Pectillin, this image came up, and this is the cat version of exactly the face your pet makes while trying to shove a syringe in its mouth:
You can practically hear it going, “Mrrruuuuuggggghhhh.”
I thought wrestling my one-year-old into a diaper and clothing was rough. This is next-level jujitsu. Extra points if you don’t get poo-bum all over you.
We are on day two of meds and they have yet to take effect. We are apparently supposed to give it 3 before consulting a vet.
This was originally going to be item number one in a list of reasons why I took to some wine this week. But, upon re-reading it, I’d say it can stand alone.
I’m off to pour myself a top-up and prepare for the long night ahead.