Bunny Gets Something off her Chest - July 29, 2005

Sometimes in life, I find myself struggling to emote. I have a hard time leaning on others, and seldomly come out and say what I'm feeling, whether it's a good feeling derivative of something nice that has happened to me, or a bad feeling derivative of some negative happening. I ignore the feeling, put it into the "feeling box" that rests beneath my solar plexus and never leaves me alone. Then I drink a whole bunch of Tequila to cope.
This doesn't work so well. The "feeling box" gets full, and I end up doing something stupid or illegal that brings the shadow of shame upon my family and friends. So, in the interest of unloading the "feeling box" I am going to lean on you, the discerning readers of fine literature that frequent my site.

This is embarrassing. There's really no way to discuss it lightly, so I'll just come out and say it: my dog, Murphy, is a nervous wetter.

Maybe I should explain nervous wetting, so that you can understand my dilemma. Some dogs have an inability to control their bladders when they get nervous. It isn't a conscious decision for them. They get nervous, and out pops the pee. They don't squat and cogently take a piss on the floor, the pee just leaks out. It's not that big a deal and easily outgrown once the dog exits puppyhood.

But Murphy's problem is advanced. Its not just nervous wetting. She's invented a whole new kind of emotive pissing, the kind that happens any time a stimulus of any sort enters her periphery. She pisses when she's happy, she pisses when she's sad. She pisses when she is hurt, angry, apathetic, frightened, indifferent, eager, bored, hungry and tired. A mere glance in her direction will elicit a stream of pee.

Every morning, I awaken to Murphy's "its morning and Mommy is going to feed me now" pee. Once I clean that up, there is the "Mommy is mad at me because I peed" pee. After that is the "mid-morning [insert emotion] pee," and in response to that pee comes the "Mommy is mad at me because of the mid-morning [insert emotion] pee" pee. Should a guest come over for a visit, she turns into a supersoaker. I have to tie her to the radiator and keep a ten-foot radius of distance between my dog and my guest, a smelly yellow restraining order, if you will.

I keep a mop and bucket of soapy water in the corner of my living room. Yesterday I kept track of every time I used it, and the final count was fifteen. I mopped up fifteen piles of piss between sunup and sundown, even a "someone rang the doorbell" pee. And just when I think I'm at my wit's end, Murphy shows me a whole new way to nervous wet.

Take today's incident. You see, Murphy likes to be sociable with strangers on the street. She approaches humans and flops onto her back to elicit belly scratches, and being that she is adorable, she gets them. Who can resist a chubby black puppy with huge ears and white socks? After she gets the belly scratches, she takes to jumping up on the human. This, too, goes over well, but her nails are getting long. Today, while jumping on a young woman at the Starbucks down the street, she carved great gouges into the woman's legs. Nice legs, too.

After apologizing, I ransacked my apartment to find the girls' doggy clippers. I sat in the only chair I have, my office chair, and placed Murphy on my lap. I showed her the clippers. She sniffed them a little bit and proceeded to piss all over my lap and office chair. That must be her "Mommy has shown me a foreign object" pee.

My shorts now soaked with dog piss, I figured I might as well get down on the floor with her and get the ordeal over with. I flipped her onto her back and watched yellow water fountain out of her little pee hole in alarming intensity considering I had just taken her outside to pee. It sprayed all over my legs and the floor. I grabbed one of her socked paws and tried to hold it still, but the water kept sraying out and making the clippers slippery and hard to hang on to. Her tail flapped back and forth in the mess, became a sopping pee-flicker machine, which flung piss onto my shirt and thighs. I clipped her nails as quickly as I could. When I was done with the last one, both Murphy and I were covered. She looked as if she had just frolicked in Lake Michigan, and I had piss on every square inch of me, my face, hair, arms, hands, and under my legs was a puddle of puppy urine.

Now that I've gotten that off my chest and out of my "feeling box," I feel much better. You feel much worse, of course, but isn't that the American way? Don't worry, tequila makes it all better.

Posted by at 12:14 AM

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Posted by: Lars at September 9, 2005 11:39 AM

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