We'd had a few good days of Normal Pooping. (Normal for Murphy, that is. Runny enough to be weird in a normal dog, but within his range of normal.) He has been perky and energetic and alert, and pestering for bites of my dinner, so tonight, I missed the Signals. He was pestering me while I ate dinner, pestering, pestering, I told him NO, he couldn't have my vegan but chicken-ish stir-fry.
I was on the phone, then on the computer, and...yeah. Massive runny poop in the living room. Have I mentioned lately how AWESOME this floor is? Looks like wood and is as easy to clean as tile. He was on his blanket in the corner, looking deeply sad about the unfortunate incident, but I blame myself completely. He tried to tell me, and I didn't understand. Not his fault. But he'd been pooping normally-for-him, so I was surprised by the...er...volume and force...of what I found. He's a seven pound dog on his fattest day, but I am not kidding when I say he puts out a massive quantity of fluid under pressure. You'd swear it was done by a German Shepherd who ate a bag of Taco Bell leftovers. And he didn't hit the furniture, throw rugs, or my shoes, so he gets a gold star for aiming for the safest spot he could find.
And when I feel guilt about leaving him with his doctors when I go visit the AVL family, I have to remember this. I can't ask anyone else, even a ridiculously expensive pet-sitter (I priced them; for what they would charge for the four visits a day he needs, I could put him at the Marriott.) And he does explode like this, even when on his meds, and at random, and I can't ask anyone who doesn't love him like a mom to take that on. I love and trust my vet's office; they know him there and he loves them too, so he will get attention and cuddles, and meds if he needs them. Mr. High Maintenance 's road trips are behind him.