YES, it's another post about Biscuit. And YES, this blog is supposed to be about food. And YES, I am looking great today.
I'm still a little burnt out from the Thanksgiving fiesta, so I don't really have much to share on the food front.
Which means you get another story about my dog.
And before you get too involved, BE FORWARNED: This story has to do with poop.
On the December 24, 2008 (two weeks after we'd adopted Biscuit), my boss called an in-office meeting even though we all had the day off. It was going to be a short meeting and my coworker Grant and I were both allowed to bring our newly adopted pups.
During the meeting, Biscuit was full of energy. She was only a 2.5 month old puppy, so it wasn't surprising that she spent the hour pulling and tugging and yelping and just being an overall nuisance. I had to put her on a leash because otherwise she would take off running throughout the office or chew up naughty things like the Play Station cords. (I'd like to add- Grant's dog Stella was a total DREAMBOAT and just slept in his lap the whole time. Some dogs should take note (Biscuit, I'm talking to you.).)
My boss, who thought he was a fucking dog whisperer extraordinaire, offered to take the leash so he could demonstrate how to get a dog "under control".
Not long after, Biscuit wandered outside the conference room. Still inside the office suite, but outside of view.
I noticed the slack on her leash wasn't moving. Like all of a sudden she wasn't curious about anything and everything in sight.
Something seemed wrong.
I quietly got up from my seat and walked towards the door to see what she was doing.
That was when I saw it.
She was squatting to take a pee.
After a quick "Oh fuck", I ran to the kitchen to grab the roll of paper towels. I ran straight back and unrolled what I can only guess was about 500 paper towels to soak it up.
As I pressed them onto the floor, making sure to BLOT, not WIPE, I realized something was wrong again. In the split second between realizing "Uh-oh" to when I lifted my head and looked over at Biscuit, I saw the last thing any employee (who actually LIKES their job) wants to see...
Biscuit was positioning up for a shit.
I quickly leapt (like an actual leapfrog) from the lesser-important pee spot over to Biscuit.
Somehow in my horrible realization of what was about to go down, I forgot to bring the paper towels with me.
And it was too late to turn back for them.
Because the shit was coming.
Literally. She was shitting.
It was just like in the movies where the main character is looking left and right for something and then at the last second they do something real crazy-like.
Which is exactly what happened.
Because I reached my hands out...
And caught Biscuit's poop.
In my hands.
Hot, steamy, soft-served poop. In my hands. While I'm kneeling in my boss's office.
This was seriously the biggest poop I could have imagined coming out of that little body, because not only was there enough to fill my hands, some turdage also landed on the carpet.
Thankfully, I managed to be hidden behind walls during this whole disaster. And lucky for me, nobody has the image of me sitting on the ground holding hot dog turds on Christmas Eve burned into their memory (like the way it is in mine).
From here, the action wraps up pretty quickly.
I throw the shit out in a trash liner, tie it up tight, and toss it in the main trash. I soak the carpet through with 409. And I burn my hands off in an incinerator.
A few months later, I was laid off due to company cut backs.
I didn't feel so bad about the shit anymore.