hornian
1,000+ Posts
Or "If You've Ever Been Stupid Enough to Want a Dog, Read this First"
Let me preface this by saying I love dogs in general, and my dogs specifically. But, if I knew what I know about pet ownership when I was thinking about adopting my first dog 5 years ago I would never have done it. And that was before I got home today.
Holy ****.
Next, let me warn you, what I'm about to describe is the most disgusting thing I have ever personally witnessed in my life. I've seen compound fractures up close. I've seen injuries to friends that caused so much blood to be spilled that you would have thought that a vampire exploded. I have literally been elbows deep in blood and guts when I've field dressed deer. And I've even seen "The Miracle of Life" video in health class. None of those things made me physically ill. But when I walked into my house today I almost lost my cookies.
Remember that pretty ****** movie from the 90's with Nick Cage and Joaquin Phoenix about snuff films. I think it was called 8MM. Anyway, it was crap, but there was a line in that movie that always stuck with me. Nick Cage's character is trying to get Joaquin's character to show him some ****** up porno, and Joaquin says something to the effect of "Are you sure you want to?" Nick says yes. And Joaquin says ok, but warns him one last time that "There are some things that once you see you can't unsee." Today, I saw something I will never be able to unsee.
Or unsmell.
And that is the effects of a geriatric dog who's gastrointestinal system just ain't what it used to be getting into the trash a few days ago. Now, Kona is a good dog, but he's pushing 11, and he can't really handle anything other than dry dog food. He's had a few accidents before, I even took him to the vet but they said that he's just to old to be eating things that younger dogs can eat, like table scraps or other things that makes dogs tails wag. He probably thinks I hate him when I let Kaci eat gristle and bones and stuff, but she doesn't get explosive diarrhea from it like he does. Sucks to be him, but I do what I can to make sure he's only eating the right stuff most of the time. However, a day or two ago, I guess I left the lid on my kitchen trash can open, and when I came home it was obvious the dogs had eaten some of the food I'd thrown out recently. And I think that's what led to today's **** storm.
When I walked in my side door this afternoon I was immediately confronted by a smell. I can't describe it, but it's the smell of the most disgusting canine diarrhea imaginable. I immediately looked for the scene of the accident. Usually, when he loses it, it's right by the back door. Which I guess I can handle, it doesn't happen often, and I can tell that had I been there to let him out he wouldn't have had his accident. So I look that way, and I see a couple of puddles of ****. It's gross. But it's not big enough to make that big of a smell.
I let the dogs out, and start to open windows. I go into the kitchen, and there's even more puddles of ****. And when I say puddles, I don't mean neat little puddles, oh no, when Kona get the shits, there's some velocity behind it. I could probably take pictures of his ****-splash patterns and send them to some physics professor to use in a fluid dynamics course to get his students to estimate the velocity, trajectory, and consistency of the **** that erupted from Kona's backside.
So far I've been in two rooms and found at least a half dozen toxic spills. I don't know what the **** he got into, but it tore him up, that's for damn sure. I'm carrying my backpack, so I want to go to my room and leave it there instead of accidentally dropping it into some liquefied **** that snuck up on me. I turn the corner from my kitchen into the hall and I'm confronted with a ******* lake of ****, complete with a kind of island of semi-solid crap about 3 or 4 inches high in the middle. What. The. ****. Did. My. *******. Dog. Eat. I turn on the hall light, step over the **** lake, and make my way down the hall. and into my room. There is literally **** the entire length of the hallway. Thank Christ I close my door when I leave everyday, because the bedrooms turned out to be the only unscathed rooms in the entire house.
I close my door and think of a game plan. I have extra paper towels in the kitchen, cleaning supplies, and air freshener in stock. I can do this. And then on my way to the kitchen I glance in the hall bathroom. I can't do this. It looks like someone carpet bombed the tile floors with diarrhea. The entire bathroom is covered in it. It's on the WALLS. It's on the cabinets. I go to open the window in the bathroom that is over the tub to get some fresh air in, and there is **** in the tub. My sick dog went and got in the bathtub at some point and **** there (which, actually, I wish he had done more of, that was the easiest **** to clean).
I finally make my way back to the front of the house. And I look in the living room. Yep, you guessed it, **** city. **** man. It's like there is a bread crumb trail of everywhere my dog walked, except that instead of bread crumbs there's concentrated evil dripping behind him. Holy ****. Its even on the coffee table. How the **** did he **** on the coffee table? And not to mention, the other dumb ******* dog walked through it and then decided to get on the couch. Thank Christ that's the couch with a slip cover on it so I could wash it on the hottest setting imaginable with about 9 gallons of bleach.
There was literally **** in 3/4s of my house. It was everywhere. It was in my raccoon wounds.
I opened up every single window in the house that had a screen on it. I set up a box fan in my sliding glass door to the backyard and got to work. Down on my hands and knees, paper towels in one hand, 409 in the other, scrubbing the **** off the floors. It took me almost two hours. I ran out of paper towels (THREE WHOLE ROLLS), and finished up with some old towels that I just threw out. I filled an entire trash can with **** stained paper. I went through an entire box of those swiffer wet mops. I still don't feel like it's clean, even though I can't find anymore traces of the ****-splosions around the house. I'm going to wake up with nightmares about this for weeks to come.
Finally, I'd had enough. I left the windows open, and turned on my whole-house-fan (this thing is pretty cool, it's original to the house from before there was central AC, it's this huge fan that sucks in air from the outside when the windows are open, creating a breeze), and went and watched a movie that was almost 3 hours long (There Will Be Blood) to let the house air out. Kona stayed outside this entire time. Even though it probably didn't matter, there's no way he had any **** left in him.
So the moral of this story is don't ever get a dog, or your life will one day literally turn to ****.
At least the movie was good (There Will Be Blood, not 8MM).
Let me preface this by saying I love dogs in general, and my dogs specifically. But, if I knew what I know about pet ownership when I was thinking about adopting my first dog 5 years ago I would never have done it. And that was before I got home today.
Holy ****.
Next, let me warn you, what I'm about to describe is the most disgusting thing I have ever personally witnessed in my life. I've seen compound fractures up close. I've seen injuries to friends that caused so much blood to be spilled that you would have thought that a vampire exploded. I have literally been elbows deep in blood and guts when I've field dressed deer. And I've even seen "The Miracle of Life" video in health class. None of those things made me physically ill. But when I walked into my house today I almost lost my cookies.
Remember that pretty ****** movie from the 90's with Nick Cage and Joaquin Phoenix about snuff films. I think it was called 8MM. Anyway, it was crap, but there was a line in that movie that always stuck with me. Nick Cage's character is trying to get Joaquin's character to show him some ****** up porno, and Joaquin says something to the effect of "Are you sure you want to?" Nick says yes. And Joaquin says ok, but warns him one last time that "There are some things that once you see you can't unsee." Today, I saw something I will never be able to unsee.
Or unsmell.
And that is the effects of a geriatric dog who's gastrointestinal system just ain't what it used to be getting into the trash a few days ago. Now, Kona is a good dog, but he's pushing 11, and he can't really handle anything other than dry dog food. He's had a few accidents before, I even took him to the vet but they said that he's just to old to be eating things that younger dogs can eat, like table scraps or other things that makes dogs tails wag. He probably thinks I hate him when I let Kaci eat gristle and bones and stuff, but she doesn't get explosive diarrhea from it like he does. Sucks to be him, but I do what I can to make sure he's only eating the right stuff most of the time. However, a day or two ago, I guess I left the lid on my kitchen trash can open, and when I came home it was obvious the dogs had eaten some of the food I'd thrown out recently. And I think that's what led to today's **** storm.
When I walked in my side door this afternoon I was immediately confronted by a smell. I can't describe it, but it's the smell of the most disgusting canine diarrhea imaginable. I immediately looked for the scene of the accident. Usually, when he loses it, it's right by the back door. Which I guess I can handle, it doesn't happen often, and I can tell that had I been there to let him out he wouldn't have had his accident. So I look that way, and I see a couple of puddles of ****. It's gross. But it's not big enough to make that big of a smell.
I let the dogs out, and start to open windows. I go into the kitchen, and there's even more puddles of ****. And when I say puddles, I don't mean neat little puddles, oh no, when Kona get the shits, there's some velocity behind it. I could probably take pictures of his ****-splash patterns and send them to some physics professor to use in a fluid dynamics course to get his students to estimate the velocity, trajectory, and consistency of the **** that erupted from Kona's backside.
So far I've been in two rooms and found at least a half dozen toxic spills. I don't know what the **** he got into, but it tore him up, that's for damn sure. I'm carrying my backpack, so I want to go to my room and leave it there instead of accidentally dropping it into some liquefied **** that snuck up on me. I turn the corner from my kitchen into the hall and I'm confronted with a ******* lake of ****, complete with a kind of island of semi-solid crap about 3 or 4 inches high in the middle. What. The. ****. Did. My. *******. Dog. Eat. I turn on the hall light, step over the **** lake, and make my way down the hall. and into my room. There is literally **** the entire length of the hallway. Thank Christ I close my door when I leave everyday, because the bedrooms turned out to be the only unscathed rooms in the entire house.
I close my door and think of a game plan. I have extra paper towels in the kitchen, cleaning supplies, and air freshener in stock. I can do this. And then on my way to the kitchen I glance in the hall bathroom. I can't do this. It looks like someone carpet bombed the tile floors with diarrhea. The entire bathroom is covered in it. It's on the WALLS. It's on the cabinets. I go to open the window in the bathroom that is over the tub to get some fresh air in, and there is **** in the tub. My sick dog went and got in the bathtub at some point and **** there (which, actually, I wish he had done more of, that was the easiest **** to clean).
I finally make my way back to the front of the house. And I look in the living room. Yep, you guessed it, **** city. **** man. It's like there is a bread crumb trail of everywhere my dog walked, except that instead of bread crumbs there's concentrated evil dripping behind him. Holy ****. Its even on the coffee table. How the **** did he **** on the coffee table? And not to mention, the other dumb ******* dog walked through it and then decided to get on the couch. Thank Christ that's the couch with a slip cover on it so I could wash it on the hottest setting imaginable with about 9 gallons of bleach.
There was literally **** in 3/4s of my house. It was everywhere. It was in my raccoon wounds.
I opened up every single window in the house that had a screen on it. I set up a box fan in my sliding glass door to the backyard and got to work. Down on my hands and knees, paper towels in one hand, 409 in the other, scrubbing the **** off the floors. It took me almost two hours. I ran out of paper towels (THREE WHOLE ROLLS), and finished up with some old towels that I just threw out. I filled an entire trash can with **** stained paper. I went through an entire box of those swiffer wet mops. I still don't feel like it's clean, even though I can't find anymore traces of the ****-splosions around the house. I'm going to wake up with nightmares about this for weeks to come.
Finally, I'd had enough. I left the windows open, and turned on my whole-house-fan (this thing is pretty cool, it's original to the house from before there was central AC, it's this huge fan that sucks in air from the outside when the windows are open, creating a breeze), and went and watched a movie that was almost 3 hours long (There Will Be Blood) to let the house air out. Kona stayed outside this entire time. Even though it probably didn't matter, there's no way he had any **** left in him.
So the moral of this story is don't ever get a dog, or your life will one day literally turn to ****.
At least the movie was good (There Will Be Blood, not 8MM).
