Update: I just checked the weather and we have patchy dense fog this morning, so this post is on a two-hour delay.

I think it is Shane who has the loose stools*. Great way to begin a post, huh? Well, that is how I began my day.  Shane doesn’t bark when he has to go out; he goes to the door, period. He doesn’t come and get you when he has to go out; he goes to the door, period.

Well, I glanced around to see him walking back from the direction of the door and went to open it for him. Too late, as I opened the door . . . don’t continue if squeamish . . . it brushed through a large amount of loose stool and squashed it into the rug and up into the bottom metal thing on the door.

About the size of a large dinner plate, if you are wondering. Odd that I should use dinner plate as a comparison, now that I think about it.

Yesterday, Sydney was very irritable and seemed sort of scrunched up in his posture, so we went off the the vet for a visit. The usual routine: blood drawn, antibiotic shot and pain shot and pills for both in the coming days. That is if it is a flare-up of pancreatitis.  After his night of pain some years ago, we don’t gamble with the “maybe it isn’t” question.

But back to Shane. I can’t help but wonder why it is that he will nag you to death to throw the wubba, but won’t raise a paw to get your attention about the needing to go out thing.

Okay, enough of a little break for me – I’m off to get the deep cleaning “pet odor” shampoo.

*Loose stools: Not a term I normally use; it has the cringe factor for me . . . like bowel movement. I don’t know why – maybe because when I was little, they were words preceded by a throat clearing and a hushed tone? Terms I learned to brace myself for. Come to think of it, when I was little, adult voices when addressing some subjects sounded like grown-ups in Charlie Brown.  I believe if the kids wanted to tease me unmercifully, they would chase me around the house, ominously saying “bowel movement” and then guffaw uncontrollably. I’m certain they would choose to do so . . . if I were more open about my perspective on this personal language. I keep them off-balance by  inventing something they think embarrasses me. Oh, something like manure.