Two Words: Dog Poop

 

 

My daughter has an unnatural obsession with dog poop.

Any brown spot she sees leads her to call out, “Daddy, dog poop!” A fleck of mud on her clothes or her hand? “Daddy, dog poop!”  When I am changing her diaper, or her brother’s diaper, she looks down at the dirty mess and says, “Daddy, dog poop!”

Twenty times a day, I hear this refrain. It has kind of become her answer to everything.

Brooke has an old night stand where a candle burned a stain into it. (Most likely the result of one of her drunken college binges.) Every time Sydney passes that stand, she points to the spot and says, “Daddy, dog poop.”

Sometimes, she can't go to sleep because, well, you know.

“Sydney, it is TIME TO GO TO SLEEP!”

“Daddy, dog poop! There’s dog poop on the bed.”

When I loaded her into the car at 3 a.m. prior to our Thanksgiving trip to Milwaukee, she was excited about the middle-of-the-night excursion to grandma and grandpa’s. ‘What are we going to see in Milwaukee?” I asked, anticipating some joyful squeal.

“Dog poop?” she asked.

Sigh. 

In her defense, she does see a lot of dog poop. We have two dogs, both weighing near 100 pounds. She’s told frequently to watch out for dog poop in the yard. (In the summer, I can mow that into fertilizer and in the winter, it is frozen and easy to pick up. Fall and summer are just messy.)

Plus, our German Shepherd, Vegas, has been diagnosed with degenerative myelopathy, which means that his brain and the nerves in his back end don’t always communicate. That sometimes results in accidents on the porch or in the house.

Yeah, I know. TMI.

Still, my daughter’s obsession is a bit out of control. When other people listen to her, they probably think we spend our days swimming in dog poop.

I suspect there will be many more obsessions over the next 16 years. My goal will be to channel them into something a little more positive than dog poop.

Like farts and burps.