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April 24, 2011

A peaceful day of writing turns into a mystery and disgust when fecal matter disappears out of the toilet bowl

“Must…type faster,” I furiously look down at my computer screen at see that my quota of word length was much lower than it needed to be for a Saturday afternoon.


Suddenly, I am interrupted by a cold wet nose bumping into my forearm. I look around the side of my laptop’s screen to see my dog, Bert, sitting on the floor with a stuffed toy dangling out of his mouth. Bert is the type of dog that always had something in his mouth or is always caught by my wife and I doing something that he isn’t supposed to.

“I am sorry Bert, I can’t play right now,” I pause and then grab the sides of my stomach. “Mommy is going to be home in about an hour and I got to get this done,” I give commands to our dog and I talk to him about my wife as if he would understand. But his head cocks to the side with a swaying toy in his mouth as he notices me grab my stomach in pain again.


“But first Bert, I gotta go to the bathroom,” I put the laptop on my night stand and head to the bathroom as my little black shadow, Bert, is right behind me. I lock the door and sit on the toilet for a good while for the coffee and blueberry muffin to slide through me. Afterwards, I look down in the porcelain bowl to see what exactly comes out of me. And if you find this disgusting, I guarantee there are at least five people around you right now who do the same thing. Who doesn’t like to see what mess they make?


I flush the toilet, but one little quarter-sized piece of poop floats back up to the water’s surface. “A double flusher eh? Well, I’ll just have to take care of you later,” I  leave the piece to float around in the water to help us save water, and plus I know that I would be back in this bathroom in about thirty minutes after the rest of the coffee goes through me.  I dash out of the bathroom and continue to write as the clock ticks down.


The hour passes by fast along with my expedient finger tips all across the keyboard. I am interrupted again by something cold pressed against my forearm. I look down and I see Bert has his two wet front paws digging into my arm and a saturated, face that is licking my hands. “Blah! Get off of me you slobbery mess.” I force the dog off and look at the clock to realize that my time is up.


I stand up and go to the bathroom first. In the bathroom, I notice that my nugget is no longer floating on the water’s surface. But, around the perimeter of the bowl and on the toilet seat, there is some brownish water that had been splashed about. I quickly realize that Bert must have once again gotten into something that he wasn’t supposed to.


I dash out of the bathroom to reprimand him, but notice that my wife has just arrived. She catches eyes with me, and then scans around the house.


“I thought I told you to clean the dishes? And what about the vacuuming? Why is it that I have to bust my butt ALL day, while you get to sit around and write? Hmm?” She pauses my scolding and looks down at the perfect angel of a dog, Bert, who wags his tail at her feet with a toy in his mouth. “And look at you, my little baby,” she talks to him like an infant, which only provokes him to stand up on his hand legs and jump on her. “I bet Daddy hasn’t paid ANY attention to you all day has he? Hmmm,” she questions the dog and again treats him like a baby, but this time he responds to her voice with plenty of kisses and licks all around her face.


I stare at the dog and my wife in utter disgust. I watch his fecal bacteria encrusted tongue encircle all around my wife’s face after each slobbery kiss. She returns it by kisses on his nose and the two of them are covered with droplets of toilet bowl water.


“Well,” she catches me staring at her, “are you just gonna sit there, or are you going to get these chores done?”


“Ummm….” I pause and then wretch my stomach, “I really got to go to the bathroom.”