Two Poops Galoot – by Buddy

Aug 1, 2018

Hi everyone! It’s me, Big Smart Buddy. I didn’t win the Musical Chairs at the Mutt Scrub this year, but thanks for asking. I am almost 13, and Auggie is right. I am an old dog and all I want to do is sit or lie down. It’s out of the fast lane and into the nap lane for me!

Everyone likes to laugh at me for a lot of stuff. I don’t mind. It’s not mean laughter. It’s because I’m getting old and things are changing for me. Like pooping.

The older I get, the harder it is to poop in the time Don gives me. When I was younger, I could poop in minutes. Now, I try and try to poop but it takes forever. And lately one poop just doesn’t cut it. I guess when you get older you appreciate the smaller things in life like hanging your head out the car window and easy pooping.

I remember the day when the easy pooping stopped for me. How could I forget it? That day changed my entire life.

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It was in the early spring and Don was late for everything the whole day. Very late! The sun was up for almost 35 minutes before he woke up and got us breakfast and medicines. He only brought us out on a short walk. All of us dogs pooped.

Then Don rushed us into the car because he was late and wasn’t paying attention because I had to poop a second time. I guess Don was worried about everyone coming to the shop without us dogs there to greet them. I don’t even know why he was so crazy about getting to the store. No one came in. We could have stayed on walkies for another hour before someone came in to the store. It was March. No one comes in the store in March.

I tried to tell Don I had to poop again. I followed him everywhere panting. I tried getting in Don’s way like Max, but I wasn’t good at getting in Don’s way like Max. Don got mad. He made me go lie down and kept me inside. I think it was because it was cold outside and it was windy. He usually takes us across the street at 2 o’clock. But that day he didn’t because it was cold and windy.

I tried to lie down and hope he’d let me outside, or the two-poop urges would go away, but they didn’t. When I couldn’t stand it anymore, I went out and two-pooped near the Kitty Corner. It was as far away as I could get from Don. I let Don know the best I could and held it for as long as I could. I knew it was wrong. I just had to go.

And because it was spring and it was so slow, no one saw it until a couple of people came in about an hour later. I was in my wine barrel dog bed and watched them come through the door. They went to the Kitty Corner. Then they turned around and ran out the front door holding their hands in front of their face.

Don saw them from the counter and he thought it was strange, but he didn’t find my poop until he came out to put toys on the wall. He yelled “BUDDY!” through the hands over his face. I got out of my wine barrel dog bed and ran as fast as I could (Editor’s Note: Not very fast at all) behind the counter and hid under the desk in back because I knew it was wrong to poop in the store. Don didn’t punish me at all. He cleaned up the mess and walked me across the street. I didn’t have to three-poop. I just peed a little, rolled around in the snow and we went back to the shop. It was nice to have a break from that poop-smelling shop.

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When everyone got together the next day, they were all laughing at me. Don told everyone about the time I pooped in the Kitty Corner. Then he told everyone, “Buddy MUST have a Two-Poop break across the street at 2 o’poop o’clock every day. NO EXCEPTIONS.” Everyone laughed. Don wasn’t mean about it. And it wasn’t mean laughter. Then he came over and rubbed my head and called me “Big Buddy Two Poops.” That got a big laugh. I love Don. He’s my best friend.

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So it’s OK if you come into the shop and call me “Buddy Two Poops.” I’ll know you aren’t laughing at me. I’ll know you read this blog. Don calls me other nicknames too: “Big Dumb Buddy,” “Big Buddy Fuddy Duddy,” “Fudders,” “Budley,” “Fudley Dudley,” “Fudley Budley,” “Budless,” “Deuces Buddy,” “Hop-a-Long Buddy,” (because of my arthritis), and a lot of other names that I think he makes up when he’s talking. I guess when you have a lot of nicknames it means people know you and are thinking about you all the time. I don’t mind nicknames if it makes the nice people laugh.

Sometimes at night I lie awake scratching myself and I wonder what it would have been like if Don had raised me from a pup like Max and Auggie. I know what my name would be. Don said, “If I named Buddy, I would have named him “Galoot.” I don’t know what a galoot is.

Thanks for reading this far!

-Big Buddy Dog

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