poop is for eating! (tmit)

i'm going to talk about bruin (one good dog). he touched my life with his fluffy no goodness in more ways than i can imagine. thank you to everyone who virtually "hugged" me via twitter/email already. i get very jokey when i'm sad because i'm trying not to cry. don't misunderstand. i loved him. he's taken part of my heart. this is pretty much what happened after i was texted wednesday that they put him to sleep without calling me. i told them to call me. i knew i had to talk about bruin so that i could not fall apart. tell his story. his love of poop. he was a very tmi doggie (ala lilu).

so i debated to tell you all about my ladybits exam because i went monday and it made me very angry. really, what doesn't make you angry? you shut up.

then bruin died and it made me even angrier because they were supposed to call me, goddammit! and they didn't, goddammit. and it made me even more angry. mostly at the world and the god of dogs or whoever's in charge of those things. and those people who were supposed to call me. god. dammit. fuck.

who's bruin? bruin is, was one badass dog. screw it, he's still a badass. he lived at the clinic where i used to work. he was big and fluffy and really just a badass. and he was my friend. saying that made me just break down in hysterical sobbing for the first time. shit. i'll take a page from steamy's book and call him a jackass. he ate mother fucking poop. a lot. that's why he's gross.

when i first met him, he had a schnauzer friend, schultz. i called him schultzie. (ps shultzie died a long time ago.) they really liked each other and ran around the yard together. bruin liked shultzie. especially when he was hungry. see?.... crying is subsiding... replaced by the first inkling of smiles. you see. bruin ate poop, like i told you. every morning, after his meal, we let him out to the yard behind the clinic. he would "clean up" the yard of any leftover poop (vomit) and then spot shultz getting into poo position across the yard. bruin's poop sense alerted, he would charge across to schultz and eat his steaming poop. sometimes, right out of his butt. it was the best thing ever. for reals.

how can you be that gross, bruin?

easy, it just tastes so good.

the first time you see this phenomenon, it goes kinda like this: "what is he? bruin? leave shultz alone. he's p- OH GOD! what are you- he's gonna- oh lord have mercy on my soul he just ate that dog's poo." *faints dead away*

one time? i saw him catch it. and then... he licked shultzie's butthole. true story. licked it. and i said, "jeeeeesus. bruin!" while squinting my eyes really tightly shut. and he said, "mmmmm, poopy."

why are you so upset about some dumb poop eater, becky? first of all, stop being such an asshole. he may have been a poop eater, but he was my poop eater. we were buds, pals, sports. wait, sports? i don't think that really works in that sentence. you know what? i'm am thisclose to throwing you out of this blog completely. watch. your. step.

bruin's story begins like this: he was one of the countless abandoned black dogs in 'merica. he was one of the small minority of black dogs that escape the pink juice. he came to my clinic before i was even born. that's a lie. he came to the clinic approximately 15ish years ago and was a little ball of fluff and got to stay for a while. he was always confused in clinic lore as the one who was chained to the dumpster that one morning. however, that wasn't bruin that was jacob (dumb name for a dog) and jacob was, in fact, an asshole. wake up, people!

bruin was a mere fluffy pup. he was soon adopted by an alleged "couple" who were allegedly "nice." turns out, they wanted to chain him in the front yard as some sort of lawn ornament who growled. the main doctor (previously referred to as "dr father") drove by and declared (allegedly), "no fucking way!" and promptly collected him and took him back to the clinic to be friends with schultzie and later, a little girl called becky.

i started working at the clinic when i was 19, bruin was about 5. we became fast friends. i spoke up about his sleeping arrangements, i gave him extra goodies, i brushed his pretty, pretty hair, i hung out with him a lot. he had just an awesome coat, an awesome smile and a very imposing look about him. i was never scared going to do the kennels on the weekends because bruin was there to save me.

this story wouldn't be complete without a healthy (unhealthy?) dose of guilt. i wanted to take him home so badly. dr father tried to take him home to live and bruin got really scared and didn't like it. supposedly. i took bruin home a few times but because i was living in an apartment, with my parents, or that other apartment, it never worked out. i was vetoed or not allowed. i promised him the last time i saw him (two weeks ago) that i would take him home as soon as i got a house.

what. a. jackass. i'm so sorry bruin. i love you.

ps don't say anything nice. i've just stopped crying for the eleventy hundreth time. quick! somebody start a comment war!

pps next time you poop, can you just say a little something for bruin? he would have wanted it that way. moment of silence poop.

ppps i am a mess.

ppppps the fifth p stands for poop. "post, post, post, post, poop script"

UPDATE: bruin now has a post dedicated to him. it's about vacation poo. that matthewjenks, he's such an asshole. (<-fyi: nice)