Disclaimer: Although nothing in this post is sexual, it contains details of my life, banter and conversations that happen within a self-described 24/7 D/s dynamic and is aimed at normalising and providing acceptance of those of us who choose to live this way. For further reading on my decision not to provide an adult content disclaimer on my non-sexual posts, please see my post “LGBTQ+K: A Case For “Kinky” As A Sexuality“. Thank you.
Contains some strong language.
It started off with what I thought was a stinky dog fart.It was enough to make the eyes water, but I thought, it’ll clear in a few moments. After a few moments though, it hadn’t. That was when the second question ran through my mind – had our beloved siz-year-old Jack Russell really been and shat in his bed?
Yes, yes he had. More than shat though, he’d had explosive diarrhoea, too boot.
Damn dog, it’s already 1AM. I just want to go to bed!
Owing to yesterday’s disagreement, I was already up late to write my post. My plan had been to write and then turn in for some sleep, just as simple as that. What actually happened, though, was that the smell of my dog’s dodgy colon kept me up well into the early hours.
Fortunately, most of the carnage had happened to his towel I have no idea how he managed to get his bathing towel into his bed from a shelf three shelves high, but he is a dog, and I’d learned by now that nothing is past the realm of possibility when it comes to dogs. I’ve seen them open doors, work out door pulls, open drawers, suss out pedal bins and more. Just when you think you’ve flummoxed a dog, they’ll be perfectly ready to show you that you’re wrong.
Towel launched into the washing machine at a time getting on towards 2AM, I returned to Hugo’s sleeping area to assess the rest of the carnage. That was when I discovered his poop-covered muzzle. Tossing it wasn’t an option, that thing is a lifeline on nail-clipping day.
If you’ve ever paid attention to your washing machine, then you’ll know that there are approximately 3.5 Normal Minutes in one Washing Machine Minute. Three minutes read the display, and so I waited for the spin and drain cycle to finish.
And waited… and waited,… and waited a bit more…
Hurry the fuck up, I want to go to bed!
As I rested my head against the overhead kitchen unit and fought to maintain the will to live, I heard the bedroom door creak open.
“Is everything alright?” Matt asked, “Eurgh! Hugo!”
There we go, the cold stark reality of Au De Dog Arse has settled in.
“Can I do anything?” Matt asked. Oh bless him, he’s up early, he should be asleep.
“I got it” I smiled. I didn’t have it, but I didn’t need to be up early, either.
“It’s fine, I can help. We’re pet parents, it’s what we do.” Pet parents, yes, he is correct. Hugo is not my dog, he is our dog.
As I waited for the final two Washing Machine Moments to pass, I thought about what it means to be a Dominant, what it means to be a parnership, a team. It’s not all about roles and rules and dynamics. Even in spite of what we have, right now, we’re on par, we’re a team, looking after one another, helping one another., regardless.
With the dog outed and bags of poop removed, I was able to assess his bedding, and that was where even more carnage awaited me. It’s taken washing, anti-bacterial spray, odour remover and fabric freshener, and I can still smell the stink even now.. Bathing the dog might be the next step, though I’m not sure if I have the energy for that fight right now.
Despite leaving us with something that would make me contemplate keeping him as an outside dog for all eternity, he actually seems considerably brighter today. He’s eaten a little and barked any time the door goes, so I think we’re over the worst. I’ve chalked it up to a bacterial infection, or Garbage Gut, to give it it’s more cutesy name. Hugo is loves a good garbage raid, and though we try to do what we can to limit his options. we can never be 100% sure that he hasn’t ingested something he shouldn’t have . It’ll be chicken, rice and peas for dinner for two days, then we can try kibble again later this week.
As if my problem were over, last week, I took a delivery of ten new blue cherry shrimp. I was excited, I love my shrimp and I find them hypnotic to watch. I’d bought some from a seller before and most had been fine, but so far this time, seven of twelve (the chap sent me two for free) had died, or displayed signs that they were dying. I lost two yesterday. after my standard water change. Today, about half of my new arrivals were swimming erratically, swimming straight up and dropping down onto their backs. Two passed away right in front of me, one was found dead in the corner, and three others displayed actions which suggested to me that they too would pass pretty soon. I netted out and euthanized those who appeared unlikely to be able to make a recovery. If the cause is some form of bacteria present on the new arrivals then the last thing that I needed was for one of my healthy shrimp to eat the infected critter and to become infected, too.
Perhaps fortunately, I already run a UV filter and so in that regard, the presence of any waterborne pathogens spreading between shrimp becomes less likely. I did another 10% water change today, and things seem to have settled a little more. I might try another 50% this evening, just to make sure it’s not something nasty in the water. I’m also going to try and devise some sort of drip acclimatisation so that I don’t have to sit on the bed for the next few hours, adding water a little by little at a time. It’s going to be a fun process, but hey, if it spares the lives of my little blue babies then nothing is off limits. Finally, once I’ve sold the Samsung tablet that Matt got me for my birthday, that I never use (don’t worry, he knows, and was told!) then I will finally be buying ten more. One day, those little buggers will breed for me, and one day, I will finally, finally stop having to buy more bloody shrimp!