Why not open with a story about poop?

I thought long and hard about what I might talk about in my first post. There are so many things I’ll be exploring here that I felt the most perfect decision would be to share one of my most horrific memories.

Of course, this might tell you enough about me. Let’s hope your constitution can hold steady. It’s a really crappy story.

One bright and shining day in Atlanta, I was sitting in traffic (as is the favorite hobby of most Atlantans…we’re connoisseurs) with two dogs in my back seat. One fluffer belonged to me and the other to my now Ex. All was quiet, which is how I generally liked it.

At the time, the pups went to doggie day care with me or the Ex because we worked at the facility and felt that they would have more fun running around than being cooped up all day.

Now, Sherwood and Boston had two very different views on riding in automobiles. Boston, a Labradoodle, loathed riding in the car. It was evil from the devil and no manner of treat or cooing would change it. Boston would get car sick from time to time, throwing up a little, which is why whenever I had the dogs in the car, I would cover my back seat with some towels and hope that would at least give a little protection to my seats.

Sherwood (half Newfoundland and half baby) on the other hand LOVES riding in the car. It is made of win and meat treats and squeaky toys. If you see a white Nissan Altima cruising down the street with a big, furry, black dog hanging out of the window, that’s us.

On this particular excursion, I checked my rear view mirror to see Boston standing in the back seat, which he never does because he doesn’t get as sick when he lays down. I’m on the interstate, stuck in said bumper to bumper traffic, and getting increasingly nervous about the situation. Sherwood is obliviously living it up with his head sticking out of the window, taunting the guys in the next car.

The next thing I hear is rather familiar: *hack, cough, WRETCH WRETCH* Yes, Boston threw up, but in the never-ending pit of vile destruction in his belly the trolls decided he should give the world record of liquid ejection a shot. He threw up all over the towels, the seat, the floor board, and the back of the seat in front of him. O_o Actually, scratch that little emoticon face…I don’t get to make that yet.

*urp* Okay, it seemed to be out of his system. I can clean it when I get home. Most of it was just liquid anyway. At this point I notice that he’s still standing in the back seat, which is highly unusual after he’s thrown up. Sherwood is trying to shrink into his corner by the door (that or he was trying to make himself into a balloon animal so he could float out of the window). He’s kind of a puss about anything that isn’t food or cats or riding in the car.

The next thing I know, a putrid smell fills the car and I hear *thbbbt, zzzt, pshhhh*.

He had pooed liquid down the middle of my back seat (yes, I just typed the phrase “pooed liquid”). It had piled itself into the center of the seats and all around the towels. It began to spread out. Then, since he was obviously feeling better, he sat in it, got up, tracked it around and lay down by the other door.

THEN, Sherwood freaks the hell out. He decides that he needs to get the heck out of Dodge and tries to climb his 70lb ass over my LEFT SHOULDER…you know, the one next to the driver’s side door… to cross my lap and sit up front (not that I can blame him much). When I didn’t allow that, he crawled between the seats tracking poo across the passenger seat and up on the dash board.

THEN…THEN Sherwood decided to pee in the front seat and on my purse.

*ahem* Wait for it…


At this point, I start to cry. I can’t tell if it’s because my car is now covered in poop or if it’s the stench or if it’s because my entire purse is dripping with pee. I pretty much wail and gnash my teeth the ENTIRE ride home in rush hour traffic…and poo stench. I got home and we did our best to clean the car and dogs. Because I was an apartment dweller at that time, I had to get them up the stairs into the apartment and into the bath tub, which clogged.

I bathed myself in the sink.

There will never be a day that I get into my car and not think about that ride.

Boston and Sherwood will always be made of win and awesome…but that day…that day they were just made of loser and poop.

Boston and Sherwood a year later. See? I didn’t sell them to a traveling circus.



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