WARNING: READERS MAY VOMIT

DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE A WEAK STOMACH


Uck. Just uck.
On Tuesday morning, I awoke and stumbled downstairs post-shower and pre-coffee, still mostly asleep. One rather alarming thing I've noticed since I invited coffee into my life is that it's hard to wake up without it...I can do it at the price of a pounding headache later in the day.
There was...stuff... scattered all over the living room.
Tux, what have you gotten into?
Nothing, Daddy, if you look real close and maybe...sniff...a bit, you'll find that all I did was shit. Copiously. Prodigiously.
Tux hasn't broken housetraining since very early in his tenure with us, and he chose this night to do it in a most spectacular way. I counted thirty-seven separate turds. All but two of them were, how shall we say, remisicent of those Wendy's commercials. You know, 'the only soquid you eat with a fpoon'.
Check that, a Frosty has considerably more solidity to it.
Good morning, Ken. Up and at 'em!
After...blotting...with most of a roll of Bounty, I got out our Bissell Quicksteamer Plus--an item we bought anticipating all manner of kid-related accidents, and which I highly recommend--and we put it into action. Tux, who like most animals detests any sort of vacuum device, sat quietly by and looked guilty. Mommy, I'm sorry. I couldn't help it. I was simply on patrol, guarding you against those cats, and my ass exploded. No warning.
The only thing that upset me was that Tux hadn't tried to wake us up. Mommy, Daddy, my ass is going to explode. Then again, as Eva noted, how would we know? We've grown used to the puppy gallivanting all over the bed every night. It's gotten so he can step on an eye and we won't even bat the other one. He's not the most demonstrative of dogs when he has to go outside. In fact, all we have to, um, go on most times is what we term 'winkin' bum'. (Which is why our next dog should not be any shade of feces...) That and a propensity to sit and stare at you means Daddy, I must excrete.
We got home Tuesday and Tux seemed to be in a better frame of mind. No pooping, but I wasn't overly surprised at that. since he'd (a) not eaten much and (b) stored up about a week's worth of poop to add accents to our living room the night before. He ran and played and did all the puppy things he always does, and then went to bed.
Around two in the morning I awoke with a premonition. I went downstairs...
...and just about keeled over.
Only a few nougats this time, still quite gelatinous...What Tux lacked in quantity he more than made up for in quality. My expert, kennel-trained nose deconstructed this crime scene like a forensic tech. This shipment was between seventeen and nineteen minutes old, in my estimation. Contents were indeterminate, but it smelled like a skunk had eaten the asshole out of another skunk. My supper did the hokey-pokey and tried mightly to escape. I held it down by iron force of will. Tux regarded me, if anything, more woebegone than the night before. Daddy, what the hell? I know that belongs outside. I'm so very sorry...
Yeah, dog, so'm I.
Eva came downstairs. I shooed her off, saying I'd cleaned it up and we could Bissell it in the morning...later in the morning, that was. After another half-roll of Bounty was sacrificed, I toddled off to bed. Barely slept a wink, after that. I think I was afraid that if I closed my eyes, Tux would squat over me.
Extra coffee was required yesterday.
Last night I went to bed shortly after seven...and of course I woke up at quarter past midnight. Downstairs I trudged, nose working overtime.
Nothing.
I took Tux outside just in case, but his insides had nothing to report. Now I'm wide awake.
Extra coffee will no doubt be required tomorrow.
Sigh.