Explosive Diarrhea is Good for Every Relationship!

My boyfriend, who sarcastically has requested to be called "Dragon" in this blog in place of his real name only to have me take him seriously (you're welcome readers), is a guy who is only slightly more than tolerant of my insanity, and for that I applaud him. Secretly, I think he is just as crazy as I am, but he hides it better in public - for example, right now he is sitting on the floor of my kitchen, fixing his bicycle, and speaking to it in different variations of Australian and other accents. See what I mean?
Anyway, Dragon is staying with me for a few weeks while he is homeless. Not legitimately, but he is between leases - and not in that way that unemployed people say that they're between jobs when really they have no future plans as of yet. It's been a real help having Dragon around, though, because I also just recently adopted a one and a half-year-old Siberian Husky named Giovanni, and Dragon has been wonderful in helping the pup get adjusted to the new home and new people. It's been nice watching the two of them bond. The three of us have built up this great relationship where Giovanni snuggles and gets excited to see me all of the time and sits by my side loyally until he does something wrong and Dragon yells at him. Don't get me wrong, Dragon (who is now speaking in a German accent to his bike pump) loves the dog and the dog loves him right back. It's just turned into a stereotypical "good cop, bad cop" scenario. Basically, Gio knows that if he wants something, don't ask Dad.

One of the funniest things about Giovanni is that he has very little traction on the hardwood floors in my apartment. Some of you might say that it's cruel to laugh, but I'm a vegetarian, so I think I can get away with this one. Besides, have you ever seen a dog try and run without being able to make any progress? It's hilarious. And if you're still disturbed, take comfort in the fact that it only lasts a moment or two before he gets his footing and is completely fine. So there - let yourself laugh. It's good for you!

Anyway... When I first adopted Gio, he was slightly underweight due to the fact that he is apparently an extremely picky eater. For a girl who grew up with golden retrievers, this was the strangest experience. For those of you who don't know, golden retrievers will eat themselves to death if you let them. These dogs inhale their food as if it might be their last chance to ever eat again before we drop them on a deserted island with sand as their only source of nutrition - which they would probably eat without question. Huskies do not operate on this level. Meal after meal, I would present him with a different form of dog food only to watch him sniff at it, look up at me in question, and then walk away and lay down. I finally found a brand of wet dog food that he liked, so I would mix it in with dry food and he would cautiously nibble way until he was finally finishing entire bowls of food. It was a glorious victory in my life thus far with him.

One day, however, the pet store was out of the particular flavor of canned dog food that I had been feeding him. I took my chances and grabbed some cans of Beef & Gravy flavored food and hoped for the best. Everything seemed fine, however. He ate the food without question or any sign of complaint and Dragon and I felt a sense of relief that maybe he wasn't as picky as we'd thought. Maybe he just needed adjusting to the new home and the new parents. Maybe we were right, but we were wrong, too.

That night, Dragon, Gio, and I all went to sleep in my tiny apartment. I'd like to add that we went to sleep peacefully and quietly and then woke in the morning to sunshine and pancakes, but that is not the case. Dragon's allergies were bothering him and it was apparently far too warm in my apartment that night, so I fell asleep to Dragon's sniffling and constant complaints. At about 3:30 in the morning, I woke up to an entirely different sound however: I could hear Giovanni's scuttling feet on the floor, but this wasn't just the normal scuttling that occurs when he jumps of the bed and slips a bit before getting his balance and calmly walking across the room to lie down. This was the scuttling of pure panic.

Here is the conversation that ensued:

Me: What the heck is that?

Dragon: Where is he?

Me: Oh my gosh - he's under the bed.

Dragon: What the hell is he doing under the bed??

Me: I don't know! He must be stuck!!!

Dragon: Oh my god....help me lift the bed.

We then lifted the bed and Giovanni shot out from under the bed and Dragon chased after him. It turns out that because of Dragon's allergies, he had never fallen asleep, so he was not groggy in the slightest. I flopped down on the bed because I was still not completely awake and was laying on the bed, listening to Dragon yell at Giovanni.

Why is he yelling at Gio? I thought. It's not his fault he got stuck under the bed... Why was he under the bed? Whoa - why does it smell like poop???

That's when I shot up and looked around the room. No poop anywhere. I went out to the kitchen. Poop everywhere. Now it all made sense. My questions were answered. My apartment smelled terrible. As I surveyed the scene, Giovanni cowering in the corner, crap all over my kitchen floor, Dragon continued to yell, but now at me.

Dragon: Just go back to bed! Go back to bed!

Me: Why? He's my dog! How can I help!

Dragon: Emelie, just please go back to bed! Why the hell was he under the bed?

Now I started laughing at the absurdity of the entire situation, while Dragon grabbed a cardboard box to use as some sort of shovel. He continued to yell at the dog for having explosive diarrhea and then back at me to tell me to go lay down and sleep because he was already awake anyway. He took all the poop outside, filled a mixing bowl with soap and water and then grabbed one of my white bath towels. I tried to find a way to help, but Dragon just kept holding me back from doing anything and telling me to go back to bed while he took care of it all. So I just stood there dumbfounded. He was like the Tazmanian Devil, whirling around my apartment in a cleaning frenzy. And I still just stood there- while my boyfriend cleaned up my dog's explosive diarrhea from my kitchen floor. The man deserves a medal. He then immediately put the bath towel in the wash, told Giovanni to come back into the bedroom and lay down, and we flopped on the bed and laid there, both just exhausted by the past five minutes. It was then that I turned to my wonderful crap-cleaning boyfriend and said to him for the very first time, "I love you, Dragon." He sighed, affectionately squeezing my arm, which laid gently across his chest and said "I love you, too."  And then we fell asleep.

Around 5AM, I woke up to that same frantic scuttling from beneath me and luckily got the dog outside before he exploded again, but this time Dragon slept through it all and I sat outside while my dog ran around the yard in panic as the sun began to slowly rise - and in this strange situation, I smiled, because I finally knew - thanks to my new dog's explosive diarrhea - that my boyfriend loved me and I loved him, too.

I also knew that my dog would never eat Beef & Gravy again.