Warning: sentence fragments ahead.
It pains me, what I am going to have to say in this post. Because you KNOW I hate to talk about All Things Fecal. But I can't hold it in any longer. And apparently, neither can my dog.
My dog. My dear, dear old dog.
So.
Ok, here I go.
Just like Goldie did in the car.
Three times in the past week.
WHAT?
Yes, she did. In the car, people.
Three times in the past week, Goldie has pooped in the car, her area of which is fortunately protected with sheets or blankets.
Some of which are now in a trash can on Main Street.
The first time it happened, it was just a tiny thing, and I thought she might have some digestive problem.
The second time I sensed a disturbing trend and bought pet diapers. Which I could not figure out how to put on. I have never diapered ANYTHING and the whole tail/legs/wiggly dog interface made it all the more difficult.
Time number three of Number Two was the Full Monty. A literal pile o'crap on the way to mom's before church. Nothing says a blessed Sunday morning like getting gassed to death in your own vehicle.
It didn't bother HER. I'm hanging out the window gagging, and she's bouncing around like a ping-pong ball as I yell "DON'T STEP IN IT! DO NOT STEP IN IT!"
The only good part was I had something to meditate on during meditation. WHAT AM I GONNA DO ABOUT MY DOG? THE DOG WHO TRAVELS IN MY CAR WITH ME EVERY SINGLE DAY??
God gave me the answer: take her for a walk before you take her for a ride. So far, God was right on. Two walks, two poop-free rides. Now I just have to leave 15 minutes earlier than scheduled and stock up on plastic bags. I hope that takes care of it.
Because the next step is a U-Haul trailer behind the car.
Update: the walks are working so far. Three days, zero incidents. Whew.