[Gidget objects to the title of this post, and would like to point out that she doesn’t fart. She’s so tightly wound, she poops tidy little marbles most of the time.]
She’s probably right. I believe we have only one suspect in the fragrant atmosphere in which I toil, doing a job I loathe. Sophie relapsed again the other day.
Thursday night at 2 a.m., to be precise: we had another poopsplosion. She’s a very good girl. Despite being blind, she managed to get 95% of it onto the potty pads, which was quite amazing, considering the..output of the explosion. 2 a.m. Yeah.
So I called her doctor, we talked, and I spent another $75 on medications (we added an antibiotic) and it did control the diarrhea, but couldn’t CONTROL THE FARTS. OMG, I’ll be in an online meeting, I can’t leave, and yeah, OMG.
So what can you do when your job sucks and the dog is asphyxiating you with noxious emissions?
I’m going to take a damn day off and go to…you guessed it…Disney World!!
I’ve tried to do this for several weeks, and damn, we’ve had a ton of rain lately. I scheduled and canceled this day three times. I did manage to go to Animal Kingdom with my daughter and granddaughter on Super Bowl Sunday, and it was amazingly uncrowded. We had a lovely, laid back day. We chilled with the gorillas. This is Gino, he is 40 years old, which is around 80 in human years.
Gino has two wives and young children. He is totally over this young family shit. While we were watching, his baby daughter Grace (she was in the shadows, so no decent pictures) was swinging on a rope, doing a totally human, “Daddy? Daddy? Watch me Daddy!!”
Gino humored her for a moment, then moved to another area of their huge, lush habitat. Fatherhood at the equivalent of over 75 is never a good idea.
This time I’m going to Epcot between festivals – The Festival of the Arts ended yesterday, and Flower and Garden doesn’t start until next week – but that’s fine. I have to get the fuck out of this room, I’m getting stabby. I’ll take pictures, eat snacks, browse the shops, and just spend some time out of my freaking gas filled office in the sunshine.
One thought on “Escape from the Room of The Farting Dogs.”
Good for you! It’s soul restoring to go to your happy place.