Monthly Archives: October 2021

Dogs, Humor, Imagination, Joy, Love, Storytelling

Simply the Best Mutt

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This post is for those of you who have adopted a rescue mutt at some point in your lives, without knowing much about them beyond where they were rescued from, their supposed breeds, and their approximate age.

Do you ever wonder what their origin story is?

I do. And I have a theory about what Radar’s is.

Radar showing off his newest favorite toy, that moments before was covered in cloth.

What am I sure of? That before he came to Colorado, he was loved by someone else. I say that because of his sweet nature and love of all people he encounters.

This is the point in this post where I was going to tell you a clever, heartwarming story I made up about the newlywed couple that were his first “hoomans” who named him “Goofy”. These two crazy kids broke up for a time, then got back together when they were a united front trying to find him after he ran away amidst the devastating flood that hit the Houston area in the spring of 2019. They didn’t find him but “found” each other again. And of course they learned that the wife was pregnant and then they proceeded to live happily ever after, though often wondered what became of Mr. Goofy.

Instead of that, however, I’m just going to tell you all that Radar the dog ought to be the first of many dogs to compete under the category of “Mutt” at the Westminster Dog Show.

I know that the WDS does have the “All American” category of dogs; however from what I understand these dogs only compete in the “Agility” competitions. What I’m talking about is adding more diversity to the mix. Making it more inclusive, if you will.

There would be no agility tests. No checking their dental health. No showcasing the dogs’ levels of obedience.

Instead, the mutts would be judged on things like how long each dog does the “zoomies” after bathtime. You know, when they get out of the bathtub and run around like tasmanian devils, rubbing their wet furry bodies on every possible surface?

They would be judged on how cute their expressions are when their parent excitedly says the mutt’s favorite word or phrase, like “Treat?” or “Who wants to go for a walk?”

And of course, they’d be judged on their best, most unique tricks.

It’d probably have to be its own show, though, because the folks at the Westminster Dog Show take their shit very seriously.

Reminder to self: watch that movie “Best in Show”, stat.

Speaking of shit…a couple of weeks ago, Hubs was off in Wisconsin for the week, leaving me home alone with Radar-ling.

Here’s what happened on one of our neighborhood walks that week:

We ran out of poop bags and I wanted to avoid the nearest poop bag dispensing thing in our community garden area because there was a dog with their human and I didn’t want to have to deal with Radar going completely nutso and pulling me down and causing a ruckus. Because of course this has happened before.

I know there was an angel watching over me as I managed to walk the distance back to our house with one neuropathic (I have hereditary peripheral neuropathy) hand holding the leash and the other carefully holding a pile of poop mixed with grass and dry leaves in a used Kleenex found in my coat pocket, without Radar bolting ahead and pulling me down to the ground where most certainly his poop would have wound up somewhere on my person.

Truth be told, I am the more hands-off doggy parent, as for the most part, Hubs takes the lead with getting him out for walks, giving him baths, and making sure he’s fed. I am the “fun” parent. The one who plays with him, curls up with him on the couch and has lively one-sided conversations with him.

I was nervous as the time grew closer to me being on my own with him. Sure, I am capable of taking him out for walks and all of the other stuff Hubs usually does as the more responsible pet parent. It’d just been so long since it was just the two of us.

Well, it turned out that the professional training we three participated in when we first adopted him, coupled with Hubs continuing to reinforce that training when taking him out for walks, paid off.

I was proud to report to Hubs when he returned home that Radar was a very good boy the whole time he was gone.

My Radar-ling is just simply The Best.

Facebook, Humor, Life, Sarcasm, Work

Pooping at Work

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One of my Facebook friends posted about a “genius” idea they learned about: “pooping shoes”.

These are shoes you change into at work prior to using the facilities to, you know, take a dump.

My Facebook friend was in the camp of people who nevereverever poop at work. They find it abhorrent when others do. They have a poop schedule to which they adhere. If their schedule is somehow off and they have no choice but to poop mid-day, they would hop in their car, drive home, do their “doody” and come back to the office.

This Facebook friend of mine also shared that they are grateful that at this point in their career, they work from home. No special shoes needed to poop there.

Yet, if they did still have to work in the office amongst other people, they’d have a special pair of shoes hidden in a drawer…just in case.

Or maybe they’d be like Zahid from the Netflix show “Atypical”.

Thoughts on this?

Here’s mine:

Who really takes the time to peer under the bathroom stalls and register exactly who is using the shitter? Weirdos, that’s who.

Now, a quick glance just to ascertain if there is someone in the stall, to prevent oneself from attempting to gain entrance-that’s normal.

If one were to change their shoes at their work station, then make the trek to the restroom, wouldn’t there be a decent chance that someone would notice the change in footwear? And furthermore, would there not also be a chance that the one who noticed the new shoes would also need to use the facilities approximately 20 seconds after one has plopped their ass onto the porcelain throne?

Because I’m pretty sure that would happen to me.

I’m just not that smooth. Or that sneaky. I’d change my shoes, then on the way to the toilet, I’d be distracted by a client in need of something or a co-worker with a question. Someone, no doubt, would take notice of my new shoes and perhaps ask why I changed shoes. Shit (ha ha), then I’d have to come up with a believable lie, like “these are more comfortable”. Then I’d have to wear my “pooping shoes” for the rest of the day, hence resulting in a need to find a new pair of “pooping shoes” to bring into work the next day.

It’d become a whole ridiculous fucking thing.

Instead, I’ll continue to be grateful for the fact that I do have a pretty consistent “poop schedule” (every morning after my first cup of coffee, in case you wondered). And if I simply must poop at work, I will flush first; right at the moment I am certain that those unholy sounds are about to start coming out of my tushy. Then, if someone else enters the stall next to me, I will finish up, wait it out until the coast is clear and then disembark from the toilet seat.

And if someone else is pooping when I’m peeing in the stall next to them, I will speed things up, wash my hands according to the instructional sign hanging by the mirror, and make a quick exit to give that person some space and some respect.

Because the fact of the matter, is we all poop. That is what toilets are for. Even the ones at work.