A funny thing happens when you bring a puppy home. At first, everything is magical and wondrous. The first walk, the first bath, the first time he collapses on the floor in a fit of exhaustion, the time she comes when you call. All these things suddenly become all you talk about to anyone and everyone.
For some reason, the checker at the grocery store knows what your puppy does whenever you scratch his tummy and your boss is familiar with puppy’s feeding routine. When you pull out your phone, somehow there are dozens of pictures of the right side of your dog’s head because she kept moving right at the last second as you tried to take a picture of her.
These things are all happy, normal, oh-my-gosh-I-love-my-puppy things.
Of course, there is a flip side. With the addition of a puppy to the family there are new things that you’d rather not talk about. Things like the first time he threw up and then you let him eat it because you stood there indecisive about whether or not it was OK to let your dog eat his own vomit (Note to the wise: No, it’s not). Or poop.
Ah, yes. It always comes down to poop, doesn’t it? The first time Doc took a dump while we were walking I experienced such a keen sense of anxiety I almost didn’t pick it up with the little bag I had with me. The very thought of walking down the street swinging a bag of crap made me feel incredibly uncomfortable. I picked it up and soldiered on but every step while holding that little crap-sack made my skin crawl.
Fast forward eight months. I was walking Doc today and noticed how nonchalantly I was walking while carrying my little yellow bag-o-poo. I was swinging my arms and darn it if that poop wasn’t swinging with me.
It even briefly occurred to me that the bag could come in handy as a self-defense measure. I’m pretty sure no one wants to mess with the pedestrian who can retaliate with feces. I also came really close to chucking the bag at a mini-van whose driver was laboring under the misconception that, like on a metered on-ramp, it was perfectly fine to drive on the shoulder of a fricking suburban street where a woman and her dog happen to be walking.
I imagine that parenthood will be somewhat like this. I’m sure that I will be completely mortified after changing my baby’s first public stinky diaper but after the twentieth time I won’t even give it a thought. You can rest assured, though, that I will share the details of that harrowing experience with you because I am nothing if not forthright about poop…
…and puppy pictures.