Pooping: My Gift, My Curse

A couple of fecal matters sprouted up this weekend (and today) that I wanted to share with you.  Because after all, if we can't talk poop shop, what do we have left of this relationship?

Let us start with a beautiful Sunday morning tail of animal turds. Please use this picture as reference.  Cotton is our blond "puppy" (technically they are almost 1.5 years old but will probably be puppies for the rest of their lives).  Bear is the black puppy, and sometime confuses himself with kitty cat or a parrot, as he likes to perch on or near our shoulders when we are on the couch.

Well we were sitting on our back patio yesterday enjoying the 104 percent humidity of Florida at 830 a.m. when we noticed Cotton digging over by the fence.  These sweet little puppies are notorious diggers, which annoys Heather who is in charge of the maintenance of our yard, so Heather hollered out for Cotton to stop.  Cotton did pause while I explained to Heather that clearly she was hunting for a varmint.  Cotton then resumed digging and proceeded to get the varmint in her mouth and run over near us.

Then I realized...it was a varmint...

It was a turd.  Possibly a puppy turd.  Possibly a kitty turd.  I don't know because when Heather poop scoops the backyard, she fills the holes the puppies have dug with poop to prevent them from digging there again.

But instead of deterring Cotton from digging, it obviously became a dirt encapsulated turd smorgasbord.

So now I am hollering at her to "Drop that turd" and she is running around, doodie in her mouth.  She then heads for the doggie door and I am yelling "Don't you go in that house with a turd"....

And sure as shit (see what I did there?) she ran into the house, me chasing her...

She finally dropped that turd on the carpet.

WHY?!?

So that brings us to this morning.  It was a Monday run day and the pups and I set out to do our 3 miles wog (a walk jog really).  I had pooped beforehand and thought at the time I may have left a little for later, but wasn't too concerned.  Well about 1 mile into the run...I became concerned.  There was a poop needing to happen.  So I told Heather that I was going to turn back at the 1.5 mile mark and head home.  Well at the 1.6 mile mark I had to walk so I could do the old glute squeeze, praying that I would not poop in my spandex shorts.  I was talking out loud saying "You can make it.  You can make it"....and then I was making sounds of pain.  Like oooooh.  eeeehhhhh.  And Cotton was concerned and kept looking back at me to make sure I was okay.   So then I had to verbally reassure her, "Mama's okay.  Mama's okay...."

And I wanted to run so I could get home quicker, but running just jostled the turtle head out a little more, so I had to speed walk.  And I don't really know how to speed walk.

But I made it.  We made it.

And it was not just the "little for later" I thought I had left behind.

I walked out of that bathroom a new woman.

The pups and I then went back out and finished our three miles.

Man.  The freedom I felt knowing that I was poop free at that point.

In other non-related bowel news, I am towing the line with our "diet".  Heather completely gave up after 24 hours, but I am still eating clean, had my juice for breakfast, and stuck to the 6 drinks max for the weekend (had 3 on Saturday, 3 on Sunday).  We did eat out yesterday and I had half a meatloaf sammie and a mixed drink, but that's in line with the 80/20 rule.

Happy Monday friends!  Happy Monday.