Woogums Is A Shitter

“Hi, my name is Imogene Kerfuffle, and this is Woogums.”

“Hi, Woogums.”

“My Woogums is . . . he’s a . . . I’m so embarrassed. Woogums is a shitter.”

Yesterday afternoon, as I used Windex to clean dog poop out of the upholstery of my car, I pictured myself at a 12-step meeting with the imaginary Mrs. Kerfuffle. I imagined a 12-step meeting for owners of pets who are, at their core, fucking disgusting.

My Bennet, little Miss Vector, does not like car rides. She never has. She gets nervous—there is panting and drooling. And, sadly, pooping. Lots of pooping.

The last couple of car rides were okay. She clearly didn’t enjoy it, but it passed without, um, incident. We even went all the way down to Soulard for the Dog Parade in February, and she was awesome.

Then, yesterday. The horror. THE HORROR.

It was a lovely day, a beautiful and sunny return of spring. Looking for something else to do, Jason and I decided to take Bennet and his roommate’s dog to the park. I load my beastie into the car, and head off for the South Side.

Everything started off okay, it really did. Then Bennet became a little anxious. She stood up. She sat down. She panted. She panted more. She pooped, but just a little. I thought we would make it.

As god as my witness, I thought. I. Would. Make. It.

*sob*

By the time I arrived at Jason’s, my car reeked. Bennet? Covered in shit. The sheet upon which she was sitting? Covered in shit.

I pull up to the house, and Jason comes over to greet me. “Stand back! There is nothing good here.”

Do you know how hard it is to look remotely cool when trying to steer around a beshitted dog? Fucking impossible. I never felt so moronic in my whole life. “Hey! Know what will be a fun date? Lemme bring my shit-covered dog to your house! It’ll be neat!”

I had to wash Bennet with the hose in the back yard. It was repulsive. And cold, the day was not nearly nice enough to play around in the goddamned hose. Then I got to clean my car, and the swinging bachelor pad is not known for its wide variety of cleaning products, especially given its lack of carpeting.

Fortunately, I’m a grownup, which means I do that which needs to be done. And that includes cleaning stinky dog poop out of my upholstery with Windex. Fucking right.

When all was said and done, the evening ended as so many do, at Mangia. With booze.

Her name is Legion, for her ickiness is many.