My Best Friend – Turn the Other Cheek
I’ve been told traumatic events can effect one’s physical body. I can’t smell. Unless a herd of skunks has taken up residence on my feet with their southern extremities aimed at my useless nostrils, I might get a waft of something. I caution those of you reading this. This secret for more than 20 years. Until I felt this silly burden to unload this lifelong secret to my wife, thinking only two would ever know.
Ha! I am now the “story du Jour” of just about any friendly gathering. I allow you to continue without my dignity intact. A country boy’s best friend is his dog. I raised several, but my favorite was a cross breed named Patch. She was part walker hound, part beagle, but all mine. We were inseparable. She ran like the wind ahead of my bike and I taught her how to swim and she bailed me out of many a leftover at dinner time. Patch was cool and smart as she would scratch the door to go in and out of the house and every night she took her portion of my bunk bed.
This is where my life changed, at least my senses. I had gone to bed and had neglected to maintain Patch’s routine of going outside before bed. I was tired, she could hold it, my 10 year old brain reasoned. Ten year olds, especially tired ones, should not make decisions of this magnitude. But, I did. About 2:00 AM, I felt something scratching and digging me. It was Patch, gently reminding me that we had not followed proper dog owner procedure before procuring sleep time. I pushed her away and rolled over.
The next time I awoke to her digging, I felt pinned down to the bed. Four dog legs were straddling my body as I slept on my side. I couldn’t move. I didn’t outweigh Patch by a whole lot. I kind of opened my left eye to gather information and it immediately reported a hairy item towering over the area of my head. An immediate request was put in for the right eye to confirm and identify this item.
Opening widely, the right eye confirmed that my loving pet had pinned me to the bed and was straddling my head with her rear in the proximity of my forehead.
“Uh, brain, we’ve got a problem,” right eye screamed. “The tail is in the air, I repeat, the tail is in the air!”
“Move, now!” my brain screamed to the rest of my sleepy body.
“I can’t!” the hands responded.
“We’re trapped. There’s nothing we can do,” replied the legs.
Looking up at a lifelong friend, straining above me to relieve her situation, unable to move, I turned my head as far as I could. In these particular situations, you can’t get far enough away.
In what seemed like an eternity but only took only nanoseconds, my whole world changed. Innocence was lost. A friendship altered. My sense of smell permanently removed along with some body hair. My faithful friend had pooped on me.
On my head!
But that’s not all. She had diarrhea. I didn’t know that diarrhea is hot.
I am now an expert.
It is hot.
I don’t recommend doing research on this fact.
Just take it as fact. Please.
No one asked me the next day why I was washing sheets and bathing at 2:00 AM and I didn’t tell. The wonders of smell may forever escape me, but walking the dog never will again.