Poop

(I'm going to talk about poop...if such things make you squeamish move along) This darling girl here...POOPS IN MY HOUSE...A LOT!!!!

And it's wearing thin with me.

I'm all about loving them in their golden years. Creating a comfortable world for them. Feeding, petting, loving...you know, all that crap.

I asked Kim on the phone the other day, when she was also complaining about poop...or barking. Her pug Bobo is about a year older than my old ladies. I asked her, "Can you remember when they were young and cute and fun?". Yeah, me neither.

Actually I can. I remember hours of frisbee, the longest walks at the dog park, the day she swam out in the river chasing the really big goose and the day she chased my Dad's cow through the fence and went nose to nose with a HUGE bull. She had spunk.

The thing is she's still spunky. She doesn't have any trouble getting around, has no medical problems, she's funny, likes to have her ears rubbed, takes her treat into Amanda's room before she eats it. It's not the time. That time...we all know what I'm refering to.

But I can't stand the poop.

We can't leave her out because she barks. Just enough to make us, and the neighbors, want to shoot her.

I'm thinking diapers.