Last week, while we were out in the yard, I saw Dylan eat dog poop.
It was a pretty morning, warm and clear, and I was inhaling the sweet, humid air, watching dogs roam and sniff, not really thinking about the day, sipping my cooling coffee.
And then Dylan did the most disgusting thing a dog can do.
It wasn't his own, in fact I am pretty sure it was Sarah's, a dog who was visiting us while her parents were away, but that's not the point. He ATE poop. I saw the first gobble, screamed at him to stop, and he quickly grabbed another mouthful before I could reach him. Furious and disgusted, I grabbed him and took him inside, breathing shallowly, I covered his face with soap so he could spend all morning trying to lick it off. I couldn't bring myself to stick a finger in his mouth but I did stick a soapy rag in there. YUCK!
It took a few days for me to feel good about cuddling him, but I was beginning to melt.
Then, I read this. Dooce's dog does it too!
OK, I know dogs do this, I've had dogs do it before. (But not Dylan, at least not that I knew about.) What struck me about Dooce's post is how she completely nailed my feeling about it. I cannot bring myself to think of him in quite the same way. I certainly cannot bring myself to kiss him on the mouth (something I normally do daily, and I don't want to hear what you think about that).
I know in time this memory will receed (though writing about it is not the fastest way to make sure of that). And I love Dylan as much as ever, in spite of the poop, in spite of his bad doggy behavior this morning. And I hope/know that Coco will grow into a wonderful clean mouthed dog that Dooce can love as much as she loves Chuck, and as much as I love Daisy, Marley, and of course, Dylan.
1 comment:
Alas, my mostly lovable dog has also eaten poop at the park near where I live. She also attempts to roll in it first, before consuming it quickly and with guilt in her heart.
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