Poor Mr. Poopy Pants

Upon arriving home last night my sweetie informed me that “Mr. Famous” had a ghost turd. Meaning he wanted to poop, tried for at least a minute, and then nothing came out. To be precise, he struggled.

He then retired to his bucket in the bedroom while I finished making dinner. Shortly after we finished he asked to go out. Poor little man had the runs.

About an hour later the same trip was repeated.

The usual round of bedtime treats was scuttled to ensure there would be less reason for another trip. Two dogs were confused, and the third had little interest in the pumpkin puree freely being offered.

If you did not know. Pumpkin puree is doggie Pepto Bismol.

Before I could start nodding off with the phone in my hand, he asked for another trip. Apparently he too was trying to make it the last trip because he dawdled past my alloted patience.

Back to bed.

Almost asleep I heard his skittering on the floor. JFC! Seriously! Another trip. This time his butt made painful noises. I felt really sorry for him.

Hope died on the next trip. This was a night of dog diarrhea.

At 4am it was clear I had to use my first personal day for the fiscal year. That started in June. We only get two.

I planned to take him straight into the vet when they opened. My sweetie, who is painfully frugal at times, suggested we at least try to see if he could eat first. Ok. I have to admit a mild panic. His smell had changed. He is ill.

She made up a small dish of water with a blob of canned food. She had to feed him little finger fulls, but he did eat it all. Whew! He even drank all the water.

Now it’s been a few hours. He has been cuddled next to me in bed. The smell is better. He is clearly not needing to poop.

I get a day off taking care of my baby, and he gets to snuggle all day. 
Lucky, Mr. Poopy Pants.