The Saga of Gryphon

The Gryphon Chronicles continue.

The poor dog. As if it's not bad enough that he has to be a poodle who gets shaved by unprofessional owners who want to save a buck. Now, he's on meds for The Allergies so that he stops gnawing off his paws and scratching his skin until huge welts rise.

His itchiness seems to be subsiding, thank the lord. However, what the meds seem to be doing is creating an adverse reaction on the inside of his very large body. The Dog With The Very Sensitive Stomach now has The Constipation instead of the usual problem we have with him, which would be The Diarrhea.

Over the past few days, I've noticed a change in him, namely, his pooping procedure. He takes the Official Dog Pooping Stance we all know, but then, nothing happens. He just stands like that, back arched, looking extremely forlorn and confused, occasionally looking behind him as if to say, "What the hell is taking so long?"

He then starts to walk about the ground, back still arched, hoping some leg movement will get things going. Of course, it doesn't. He ends up either plopping out a tiny plippet of poop, or nothing at all. And then he comes back in the house, looking dejected and quite upset.

And then, I smell it. "It" is the unmistakable odour of the unejected poop that is now somewhat stuck to the very furry butt of our dog. A chunk of poop hanging off his behind. Very nice. Not only that, but every few minutes -- nay, seconds -- I get a very strong whiff of the dog's derriere, which leads to swift dry heaves. And the dog wouldn't leave me alone. I get up and move to the kitchen, Gryphon follows, as does the stench. I walk to the front door to check the mailbox, the dog is at my feet. Bathroom sink. Dog. Stench. Couch. Dog. Stench. Such was my day. Story of my life. The End.

And now I must agree with Mr. Handsome: my ultra sensitive sense of smell is totally useless, and will probably be the death of me.

Gryphon then proceeds to occasionally do The Stance in the middle of the living room because, of course, he's got poop partially hanging out of his butt. But he can't quite figure out what's going on, because why does he keep feeling this strange and uncomfortable feeling in his rear? So he tries to scooch down on his behind ON OUR CARPET to remove said uncomfortable feeling, at which point, I scream to Mr. Handsome, "Get the spoon! Get the spoon!" because sometimes, in cases like these, a good metal tablespoon is the only tool that will work.

And that's why I married Mr. Handsome.

So, the kids went to school this week, leaving me at home alone for the first time in a long time. Just me and the dog, and the guinea pigs. Gotta love my life.

The dog had another poop hanging out of his butt, giving him all sorts of worries. With the kids gone, and Mr. Handsome gone to work, it was up to me to do the digging this time. God help me.

I wet some paper towel, just a bit, and call the dog over. He knows right away what's going on, because he's a poodle, and poodles are smart. And if there's one thing Gryphon doesn't like, it's someone screwing around with his body parts. But he loves me and trusts me, so he comes over, reluctantly. I pull him toward me the last couple of feet so that he's on the hardwood, I hold my breath, and I pull up his tail, which is now steadfastly between his legs, protecting him.

I tuck his head between my knees, and with my free hand, I grab the tail, lifting it up. The dog now has no dignity whatsoever, but a woman's gotta do what a woman's gotta do. I take hold of the offending object, and grasp it.

To my horror, it's hard as rock. Guys, I am not exaggerating. The poop hanging out of the dog's ass was as hard as Mr. Handsome's head a coconut. I couldn't even grab it, let alone yank it off the dog's normally inconspicuous butthole.

After getting over the shock of it all, I sat down and cried. No, not really. I had pretty much decided that the only thing I could do was to put the dog in a bath of warm water, and let the water soften things up, so to say.

Once I wasn't feeling quite so nauseated from picturing that whole scenario in my tiny little head, I decided that sometimes, you just have to take the easy way out.

Thankfully, we had one compressed rawhide bone left in the cupboard. Gryphon loves these bones, which is nice. What is even nicer, however, is that these bones tend to give him the runs. So, being the gifted individual I am (you can stop laughing now), I put two and two together, and gave him the bone. He had that thing gnawed and swallowed in 20 minutes flat.

Chances are, he should need to relieve himself fully and happily by dinnertime, at which time both Mr. Handsome and the kids will be home.