When I Grow Up




It is always when it’s cold and rainy and altogether unpleasant outside that my dog takes the longest time to poop. At first, I am understanding: (in perfect doggy-talk voice) “Oh yes. It’s so cold and wet. Nobody likes to poo-poo when it’s cold and wet. Poor Ty Ty.” Then I become encouraging: “Come on buddy, you can do it! This looks like a good spot to squat down. Go Ty Ty, you can poop now” (I dance a little to the rhythm of that last part). Then the bargaining starts: “If you poo-poo we can go back inside where it’s nice and warm. Who wants a biscuit?! You want a biscuit?! Let’s poo-poo so that we can go home and get a biscuit.” And finally, I just get pissed off: “Come on, now Ty. Jesus christ, take a fucking crap already, I’m cold.” Or: “Fine. You don’t want to poop? Then the hell with you. We’re going home. There will be no pooping today!” 

And of course, when he finally squats down and let’s one go, I congratulate him endlessly and excitedly: “You poo-pooed! What a good boy! Who’s a good boy who poops? You are! You are Ty. Such a good boy who goes poo.” 

It starts with dogs, but someday it will be potty training with little kids. At the end of my life, if I add up all the minutes, how much of my adult life will I have spent waiting for and then congratulating smaller beings for taking a crap?



  1. Rhonda said,

    December 3 2009 at 3:40 pm

    Good God. Let’s hope you don’t have to end up doing this with your mother. The horror!

  2. December 7 2009 at 12:10 pm

    Oh you’re a masseuse?? Awesome! Wish we lived closer so you could practice on me 😉

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