OK… I febrezed the dog, but that crazy bitch totally had it coming.

If you’ve ever read mkromd, then you know that my dog is insane and that she and I have a love-hate relationship. No really, at the risk of anthropomorphizing, you can tell that she loves to do things only because they piss me off. Don’t get me wrong, sometimes that poor baby is just in the wrong place at the wrong time, like when she got sprayed by a skunk and ran through DB’s house a few years ago; but other times, she’s a willing participant. And this time, she rolled in dog-shit…on purpose…then tried to rub against me…repeatedly…at a park…where smallish-sized children were playing. 

All jokes aside, she smelled worse than the victim in The Exorcist. And, because I kept running away from her, she thought I was playing, which made her want to play more, regardless of the fact that I was throwing water from my Kleen Kanteen and shouting, “The Power of Christ compels you. The Power of Christ compels you.” The saddest part of that story is that it’s totally true, but I digress. 

The point is that I will never understand how her canine brain translated my reaction to her behavior as, “Who’s a good girl and wants to play?” But I do know that, even though she was blissfully clueless, those kids figured it out pretty-damned fast, because - when they tried to pet “the puppy,” the only thing I could scream was, “Unclean! UNCLEAN!” and they stopped. OK, maybe they didn’t “get it” per se, but not one of them went home with dog shit all over them, and —years from now, when they work it out in therapy—I hope they stop repressing the fact that I did them a favor. They’re welcome.

At any rate, after twenty minutes of being down-wind on the humid walk home, I’d had it, and when we finally got to our yard, I tied her to a tree, put on rubber gloves, grabbed the dog shampoo, turned on the hose, and started scrubbing her. Now, she’s a Rotweiller/Lab mix and she loves water, so when it hit her pelt, her entire demeanor changed from, “I will cut the bitch who tethered me here,” to “Sweet Jesus, dog shit is magical! Not only do I smell like a Bull Mastiff’s ass right now but there are bubbles to chase. Dear Dog, please let there be bacon, too. Amen.” 

I’d say she’s bi-polar, but because she’s a dog, you’d have to multiply by seven.

Anyway…the whole thing was like Jackass meets the Dog Whisperer, the Home Edition, except there was no calm, assertive voice. Thanks to the amount of shit she was wearing and shaking onto me, the most I could muster was a whimper. It was literally ALL over her body and large parts of my soul…and, in the spirit of full disclosure, by the time I was getting it out of her ARMPIT and off my leg, I was feeling more inspired by Michael Vick than Cesar Millan, and that’s not OK…at all. Michael Vick did a really terrible thing; however, in my defense, I honestly felt like I was participating in some "Kafka does Febreze" commercial, minus the blind fold, and that’s when it hit me harder than a waft of wet dog shit…Febreze! So I did it. I went into the house, grabbed it, and sprayed her like a mugger getting maced. Please believe me, I know it’s wrong to expose your pets to chemicals but it was her or me. Besides, I like to think I invented a new flavor, Shitrus, but I wouldn't expect to see it on the shelves any time soon. Bold ideas take time.