After today, there can be no doubt as to my love for Monty. Explanation is after the jump, but I warn you – if you are easily grossed out, are eating, or find simply the idea of a story primarily about poop unsavory, stop reading. Seriously.
Monty and I were having a grand ole time playing in the snow in the backyard when he had to stop to do his business. But this wasn’t business as usual. Business was, ahem, stuck – and didn’t want to come out. He starts whining, I start freaking out. After it became clear that said poop was not going to come out on its own – I went in (armed with paper towels).
But alas, poop was winning and Monty was getting upset. So he runs inside and starts rubbing his ass on anything that’s not easily clean-able, like my white living room rug. Poop is prevailing. My paper towel offense made more of a mess than helping at all, and now Monty’s considerably long tush hair is matted with stink. Thoroughly freaked out and feeling like I’m going to puke, I carry Monty up to the bathroom and put him in the tub. Like most dogs, he’s not a fan.
I’m washing and wiping, but the tub is getting clogged up and before I know it, Monty is taking a shitbath and I’m elbow deep in brown water and chunks. (I told you to stop reading!) To make matters worse, because I didn’t want to use a washcloth, I’m just using paper towels and throwing them in the toilet – which now clogs up and overflows onto the bathroom floor. I start to cry.
Finally, because nothing is working, I cut all of the hair around his ass off while he’s still in the tub. Now free from poop’s grasp, Monty hops out of the tub, shakes himself off and goes to lay comfortably on his pillow, chewing a bone. I spend the next hour cleaning the bathroom and showering, wishing I had a loofah made of brillo. And now I have to wash Monty again.
So yes, I love my dog.