Tale Wagging Fun

Because I have writer’s block, please plug your nose and enjoy this encore My Odd Sock.

 

This is Maggie, a three-year old Cockapoo rescued from the shelter by my mother.

Weighing just 11 pounds, Maggie is little pooch who gives my Mom big attention.

 

 

Maggie is very social, rarely barks and only on occasion will do her business on the floor.  Otherwise, she is the perfect companion!

 

Hey wait, I thought this was about MS!  Where’s the MS connection?  If I want a dog story, I’ll watch “Animal Planet!”  Now get to the MS, you Lassie-lover!

 

Pardon me.  The MS.  Yes, of course.

 

My most visible MS condition…..is foot drop.  I’ve always thought it should be called “foot-drag,” because that is how I walk.  Step…drag.  Step…drag.  Step…drag.  (It’s pretty obvious when I’m in the vicinity of the beach or there is snow on the ground as I leave a distinctive trail!)

 

It was a usual overnight visit at my Mom’s house…dinner, hanging out, talking and watching TV.

 

I excused myself and went upstairs to bed around midnight.

 

Nature called several hours later (I’m a middle-aged man, my bladder is the size of a dixie cup).  I rolled out of bed and did my usual step-drag across the hall to the powder room.

 

Half way there I dragged my right foot into a wet spot.  “Oops, Maggie?” I wondered.

I pulled my foot back and felt around with my hand.  Nothing.  I chalked it up to a weird MS sensation and continued my “step-drag” into the bathroom and then back to bed.

 

 

The hours that followed were a restless slumber of tossing, turning & flopping.

 

In the morning I arose, walked into the hallway and froze….shocked by what I saw before me.  The sight made the Sharon Tate murder scene look tame.

 

 

It was fecal carnage.

 

 

Brown streaks were sloppily smeared into the light colored carpeting like a Jackson Pollock painting.

 

All the way into the bathroom, and all the way back into my bedroom.

 

 

Upon further “CSI” investigation, I found a turd bit just inside the doorway of the adjacent bedroom.

Piecing together the crime scene, I speculate the events happened as follow…

 

 

“I stepped in the sh&%.  Upon feeling the wetness, I pulled my foot back and felt the carpeting with my hand.  I felt nothing because the doggie-dung had fastly cemented itself to my instep.  Then, because I must throw my right foot forward to step, I used “kung-poo power” to kick a turd into the next room.”

 

 

But it was a small bit.  Where might the rest of Maggie’s dung be?

You wouldn’t think?

I step-dragged back into my bedroom.

I took a deep breath to collect myself.  Throwing back the sheets, I thought only of the horse-head scene from “The Godfather.”

There, between my bedsheets was the remainder of Maggie’s product.

My God, it looked like a rohrshock test.  I’ve seen cleaner baby diapers.  The sleep number of this bed was definately number two!  How could this tiny, 11 pound Cockapoo inflict such “Cujo” like damage?

 

So it goes.  Life with MS adds character to everyday situations.  To be sure, it’s tale wagging fun!