The rich strong raunchy smell, That’s
firmly, seemingly permanently in the tracks of my boot and there’s no
good options for getting it out.
The random smear, escaping the plastic bag, That’s
on my glove in my pocket of my wool coat, on the way
to a meeting with non-dog people.
The spurt of diarrhea, what did you eat! That’s
escaped onto the deep Berber, light toned carpet , in a kind of spiral
of, it needs to come out and there’s no waiting.
The crusty, crappy smell coming from your, That’s
your head and collar, what did you roll in? And now rubbed on
the chair and the couch and the rug and the blanket.
The loving cuddle sweet-faced, terrible smell, That’s
breathing out with the kiss you just gave my cheek.
In the kitty litter…dead fish…bad rabbit…horse poop.
Closer to the excretion side of nature I am with you around.
Over the years poop and I have become good friends. Not really on speaking terms but close. The worst Murphy’s Law type incident was with Raven (the dogface pictured in the earlier post). She had very bad judgement about what was edible and a very good nose for finding it. We were traveling, she found something that truly any other dog (really, my other dog’s just looked at her with disbelief) would not have considered edible, ate part of it, got it in her beard…it was so bad I couldn’t close the windows of the car with her in there and it was cold outside so I had the windows all the way down and the heater on high. We found a lake, washed off as much as possible, still it was totally horrid. We got home, she had a bath – some bad odor remained stuck to her, and then later, of course her digestive system also rebelled. Oh my.