Especially when I have a Rant...
I have a dog, a Cocker Spaniel. We acquired him accidentally. He has issues, I call him my Broken Dog.
He came to us flea-ridden and unhousebroken, after three years, it's still a work in progress.
Earlier this week he began acting weirder than usual. Hiding behind my legs while I sat in my chair. Hiding under the bed, skittering wildly around the house like he was being chased by demons.
It didn't take long to sniff out the problem.
On one of these mad dashes, he left behind some lovely designs. Poo art, of the runny kind. That's also when we discovered what demon was harassing him.
The ejection of runny poo paint requires air. Or in more common terms, farts.
The dog is afraid of his own farts.
The dog was running from his own rear end.
It didn't matter where he hid, the demon found him.
He was certain the invisible assailant was blowing raspberries up his butt.
Now, we did realize at this point that the dog was not well and made a vet appointment, we are not heartless. Mostly. Except for laughing at the fart assaulted dog.
I paid for that, the vet is not cheap. I get to make bland food for him for a week. I barely cook for the husband and me. Now, I'm boiling hamburger and rice for the dog.
At least the fArt Show is over, I can put the mop bucket away...
