The Running Poop Report
by ridgely johnson
(summerville, sc 29483)
LT and I never fell into a pattern of regularity in which hello and good-bye were rote and automatic. Most mornings I stood at the front door reminding him to be careful, and I loved him.
At the end of day, he always walked in the front door, and kissed me hello.
After he changed out of his uniform, we would talk about our days. Granted, his were usually more exciting than mine, but he actively listened as I told him how fortunate we were to have an assembled refrigerator. Two hours ago, this was not the case. I had all the shelves and drawers out to clean it. I did get it back together albeit with the drawers slightly tilted.
I took these little moments for granted; those moments of quiet recollection are a fond memory. Our conversations now are not about our days, all conversations center or our about our Jack Russell Terrier, Sammy’s, poop.
Sammy is 12 weeks old. Sammy does not like to poop outside. He does not like to get his feet wet in the morning. He has better things to do in the afternoon, and forget if you think he’s going out in the dark. LT installed a fancy motion sensor spotlight for him- he looks at both at us like we're nuts at the mere suggestion of venturing out to relieve himself.
LT and I talk at least once during the day. A recent call:
I say “Hello.” LT says, “Has Sammy pooped yet? When was the last time he pooped? Did you check his ‘favorite’ spots? I know he needs to poop.”
I describe my valiant attempt to get Sammy to poop. For 30 minutes I stood, pleadingly asking Sammy to ‘take a break.’ To get my hopes up, Sammy would sniff the ground, turn a few circles then gear up for his 100 mph sprint back and forth the yard. This cycle played out, over and over and over.
LT’s response, “I know he needs to poop.”
Flash forward through this scenario x 2 : Same phone call with LT.
Workday is over, LT walks through the door. No hello, honey, how is your day? I hear “Hi, did Sammy poop?” When I tell him no, LT makes one of his complete inspections of Sammy ‘spots.’ LT did kiss me hello ;-)
Evidently, Sammy snuck away from me today, and pooped in one of his spots. I have failed. The F goes by my name on the running poop report card.
The afternoon Sammy went outside and pooped, I called LT. I was fully prepared to interrupt an armed robbery in progress to break the news to him. Thank goodness, it didn't come to that. LT was ecstatic.
Looks like poop may not be topic of conversation for the next fifteen years.
Got to go, Sammy is whining at the door.
Can I talk about something else?