In the Mysterious Case of the Explosive Dog Poo

Once upon a time I set out on a great, big road trip with my family and our two dalmatians. I had our hotel booked for the first night on the journey only five hours away. It seemed so easy when I planned it all out, but unknowing to us as we clicked into our seatbelts in the car for a simple five hour drive across North Dakota it all began . . . 

We fought traffic, stopped for food and again for gas. Then my son needed to pee, so we stopped. A few miles down the road he needed to poop . . . so we stopped yet again.

Back on the road we cruised along listening to a book on CD of the Little Mermaid, when it all went so desperately wrong. 

Suddenly a smell crept up on us from the back of the car like a sticky fog, filling our noses with the thick smell of poo. At first it seemed like a rancky fart . . . but soon the smell grew stronger and more vividly disgusting. My boyfriend began to dry heave and nearly vomit in his lap. We were trapped on the highway with no exits in sight, with the smog of poo thickening around us. My son says "mama its stinky" from the back seat, my boy friend is still gagging and I bust out laughing . . . not a lady-like laugh, but the full on hysterical laughter, because what else does a girl do at a moment like this other than laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of a poo in your car?

Finally salvation is in sight a blessed rest stop! As we pulled in I'm quite sure there was a greenish-brown fog rolling out of our windows as we picked a secluded area to park. I set my family free to hide in the fresh air at a picnic table, upwind, safe from the stench that burned my eyes. I open my back hatch to save my dogs. As they leap to their safety I realize they are covered in poo-smears. I sigh and leash them to the post next to my car. 

At this point I finally access the damage.

There is poo all over the sides and bottom of the dog crate, all over the Weather Tech matt, a hideous puddle on the carpet just past the matt, and . . . poo-splatter all over the cargo-area speaker! Deep into the tiny little holes.

My dog pooped in my speaker!

There are no words. I go into the rest stop seeking paper towels and soap, but alas there are none. There are only those silly air blowers! What are those stupid things even good for? I resist the urge to kick something and wander back to my car. 

You have got to be kidding me, I mutter to myself. 

I look at the poop-spolsion once again. Sigh. And begin digging through my car for anything I could use to clean up this mess. I have purell, two napkins and a tampon. Hmmm, not gonna cut it! I start digging through my overnight bag . . . I'm in luck I have a pack of diaper wipes, I do a little happy dance and start to work cleaning up the carpet, speaker, matt, crate, and my dogs with only diaper wipes and purell. During this process I encounter three disturbing consistencies of poo in my journey to clean my car; liquid, Gak (you know that weird, slimy substance you played with as a child of the 80's/90's, yep that stuff, but it smelled really, really bad) and not to forget the last scientific consistency . . .  solid. A giant solid pile of poo. At this point I'm wishing I traveled with a hazmat suit. 

Forty-five long minutes later I finally have the car in a state of "clean" that is suitable to once again get back on the road toward our coveted hotel, that now seems so desperately far away. I wander back into the Rest Stop and wash my hands. Not once. Not twice. But three times and then proceed to dry them with that stupid, useless air blower. Whatever happened to paper towels? 

It seems no matter how many times I washed my hands all the way up to my elbows, I can't seem to feel clean. Naturally of course that means my eye should pick that time to itch, but I'd rather cut off my finger than touch my eye and risk a pink-eye infection!

I get back in the car with my family and pooches, and I start to cry. We should be at our hotel by now, and we are still three hours away. I cry for a while, but soon my son says something funny, and I laugh. My boyfriend holds my hand. And I submit to the reality of this road trip. It is a journey of a life time, I figure. We stop often for my dog to go to the bathroom, because I sure don't want to do that all again, and somewhere around midnight we finally reach our hotel. I'm thankful to be there, but you must be wondering what in the world happened to my sweet dog to cause such a horrific scene? 

You see the day before as I packed for our trip, Luna decided to help herself to a gluttonous amount of cat food . . . and we all paid the price for her emotional eating the next day. It turns out both Luna and Brodie seem to have anxiety about road trips. Brodie whines and well Luna apparently eats. I think she gets that from me. Ha!

Needless to say, I can mark this all off my bucket list.

So learn from my journey, keep a roll of paper towels, small container of dish soap, a garbage bag, and diaper wipes under the seat in your car, because you just never know. #momlife


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