I have a problem dog whose name is Biscuit. Biscuit has a great soul and a wonderful sweet, caring heart, but he also has a brain the size of a walnut that may only have two neurons that sometimes fizzle and pop when they try to send signals to each other. I’m being kind when I tell you that Biscuit is not very smart. He also has anxiety issues. But I don’t love him for his brain. I love him because he is sweet, and because he is cute. In fact he is so cute that I’m convinced it may be the only reason he is still alive today.
So one night in 2007 I went out for a few hours on a Saturday night to go dancing with some friends. When I go out, I need to lock up my dogs because they are trouble makers. I also had two cats at this time, but they weren’t much trouble and aren’t very relevant to this story. At this time I had two dogs, Biscuit and Gravy (I still have them both and they are both alive and well and sleeping in the corner as I write this). Gravy is crate trained and is easy to manage. Biscuit will not tolerate a crate. I tried to crate train him years before, and after months of trying to get him used to the crate, one day I left him alone in it for only an hour and in that time he completely destroyed the crate and also broke off his upper left canine tooth in the process, resulting in me paying for expensive oral surgery for him. So, I gave up on the crate and have had to use other creative alternatives to prevent him from destroying my house. I have found that if I lock Biscuit in the kitchen with some baby gates that he will remain confined to a small tiled area. I also make him wear a diaper because of his separation anxiety and it prevents him from peeing on stuff in a freaked out and nervous fashion. At first I thought a doggie diaper was an excessively stupid idea. I put one on Gravy once, and he pulled it off immediately and looked at me with an expression that said “Are you crazy? I’m not going to wear that.” But with Biscuit, the diaper works well, apparently it never even crosses his mind that he would be able to take it off if he wanted to, and I’ve never even seen him try to. The baby gate and diaper combination has worked well for Biscuit.
So, since I was only going to be gone a for only a few hours and since Gravy’s crate was already in the bedroom, I just put Gravy in his crate, slapped the diaper on Biscuit and left him in the bedroom too. I hadn’t ever tried to lock Biscuit in the bedroom before, as opposed to the kitchen. It didn’t seem like too big of a deal, how big of a difference could it be from the kitchen to the bedroom? But deep down I had a creeping feeling that Biscuit doesn’t tolerate changes like this very well. The thought crossed my mind briefly as I locked him in and ran out the door to meet my friends. ‘It’s 11pm now and I’ll be home before 3am, he’ll probably just sleep the whole time, it’ll be fine,’ I thought.
When I came home I opened the bedroom door and was confronted by a horrible stench that nearly made me pass out. Someone had horrible diarrhea everywhere. It took me a minute to gather my bearings and figure it all out. It was Biscuit. He was still wearing his diaper and when I looked at it he had shit all over inside of it, shit was caked to his ass and his back half of his body, but the diaper didn’t cover his asshole very well, so he managed to shit all over my bedroom too.
There was shit blasted all over the bathroom and on the bathroom door and the wall and the floor. There was a giant pile of shit on the carpet near the cat litter box. There was shit blasted onto my night stand, and then to top it off there were shit footprints all over the bedroom carpet leading to my bed and shit on my bed and my blanket and all my pillows. The carpet near the door was also shredded apart and the bedroom door had the paint scratched off at the corner.
It was 2:30am and I stood there stupidly staring at the scene. I nearly decided to say “fuck it all” and just shut the door on the nightmare and go sleep in the other room. But as a reluctantly responsible adult and pet owner I ultimately decided that I better clean it up now. I spent a few minutes staring at the scene. I could piece a story of the night together as I looked around. Near as I can figure it seemed like Biscuit spent the first several minutes after I had left clawing at the door and shredding the carpet at the base of the door. I’m uncertain if he did this because he had to have diarrhea, or if he did this because he simply wanted out and then worked himself into so much of a frenzy that he ended up having diarrhea. He clawed at the carpet near the door until it was ripped away in shreds and the subfloor was exposed and scratched up as well. After that was accomplished he gave up trying to get out of the room because his ass was about to blow. He looked for somewhere acceptable to shit and he went to the bathroom (that’s where humans shit, so that must be ok, right?) and he shit all over the floor and wall, but then he decided that maybe a more appropriate location was near the litter box (that’s where cats shit, maybe that is better, right?) and so he decided to move over there, leaving a trail of shit along the walk over. He left a large puddle of oozing shit near the cat box, at which point then he stepped all over in it, and walked over by the bed. The nightstand near my bed had liquid shit splattered all along it’s front reminiscent of paintball splatters on its target, which then oozed down dripping onto the carpet. The trail of shit then suggested that he then jumped onto the bed to try to lay down and feel better, walking in several circles before finding a comfortable position to lay in.
It took me over an hour to try to clean up the joint. Biscuit stared at me with big innocent doe eyes as I scrubbed carpet and my comforter, confused as to why I wasn’t in a happy mood.
I had made up a little tune around 2005 for Biscuit and over the years I’ve been amazed at how it applies so well to every dog I’ve ever known.
Dogs are gross
They’re super gross
They’re the grossest grossest grossest animals around.