the strange planet inside my head
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Mood:
srsly grossed out
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oh, the horror!
okay, okay. the poop wasn't bad enough, but THERE ARE WRIGGLING WORMS INNIT.
(oh, bless you Saint Lala, The Puppy Whisperer, for your email.)
okay, okay. okay. hyperventilating here, but okay. all right, i'm okay.
that is quite possibly the grossest thing i have ever seen in my life. (well, it's a contender for the top five.) i didn't know this was part of the deal in caring for a dog -- remember, i've only had one dog my entire adult life.
and THEN i read HUMANS CAN GET THEM TOO.
shoot me now. just shoot me and get it over with.
i have washed the entire first three layers of my epidermis from my hands. yes, they're practically skinless. my dreams last night were populated by writhing masses of glistening worms, and it did not make for a restful night.
poor little guy. i feel bad for him. it can't be pleasant.
****
the worming medicine seems to be working, and the worms are vacating the premises. ick. so incredibly ICK.
****
i emailed Gem and i'm supposed to capture a sample and relay it to the vet's. i don't know if i can do that. can't they just take my word for it? what if i take a picture? will that work? do i have to actually pick up the writhing poop mass? oh god, ohgodohgod i don't think i can do it.
lord have mercy.
i wonder if they have a place nearby where you can rent a Bio-Hazard suit. there has to be. i wonder how much it costs. i want the whole deal, the mask, the gloves, all of it. deck me out, boys, i'm goin' in.
i'll call the vet first. no sense in going through such heroic measures if i can convince them i saw what i did and make a sample unnecessary. please, please, please.
****
he is the cutest little bugger.
****
i am not a dog person. now, don't go all asshole on me, i'm not saying that in a bad way. i'm too old, too tired, and too selfish to put this much effort into a pet who may very well outlive me at this point in my life. and he's not mine, he's Gem's, so i'm not getting attached.
no, i'm NOT.
when my gig is up here, i will walk away and chalk it up to another very interesting experience of my life. i will think of the little bugger fondly, come and visit, and bring him treats. and maybe a little outfit for his birthday. i won't miss him, his puppy breath, or his big brown eyes. the way he jumps through the grass like a little cracked-out rabbit. the way he tilts his head and peers at you through his fabulous bangs, begging for you to pick him up and let him snuggle your neck.
nope. won't miss it one bit. not getting attached, don't care, whatevah.
he's a parasite-infested, stinky little poop butt.
that's my story and i'm sticking to it.
****
okay, the worm thing kinda knocked me out of orbit. i gotta get mah own poop together.
*sigh*
Check out TSB for the most legal fun you can have with your clothes on.
(oh, bless you Saint Lala, The Puppy Whisperer, for your email.)
okay, okay. okay. hyperventilating here, but okay. all right, i'm okay.
that is quite possibly the grossest thing i have ever seen in my life. (well, it's a contender for the top five.) i didn't know this was part of the deal in caring for a dog -- remember, i've only had one dog my entire adult life.
and THEN i read HUMANS CAN GET THEM TOO.
shoot me now. just shoot me and get it over with.
i have washed the entire first three layers of my epidermis from my hands. yes, they're practically skinless. my dreams last night were populated by writhing masses of glistening worms, and it did not make for a restful night.
poor little guy. i feel bad for him. it can't be pleasant.
****
the worming medicine seems to be working, and the worms are vacating the premises. ick. so incredibly ICK.
****
i emailed Gem and i'm supposed to capture a sample and relay it to the vet's. i don't know if i can do that. can't they just take my word for it? what if i take a picture? will that work? do i have to actually pick up the writhing poop mass? oh god, ohgodohgod i don't think i can do it.
lord have mercy.
i wonder if they have a place nearby where you can rent a Bio-Hazard suit. there has to be. i wonder how much it costs. i want the whole deal, the mask, the gloves, all of it. deck me out, boys, i'm goin' in.
i'll call the vet first. no sense in going through such heroic measures if i can convince them i saw what i did and make a sample unnecessary. please, please, please.
****
he is the cutest little bugger.
****
i am not a dog person. now, don't go all asshole on me, i'm not saying that in a bad way. i'm too old, too tired, and too selfish to put this much effort into a pet who may very well outlive me at this point in my life. and he's not mine, he's Gem's, so i'm not getting attached.
no, i'm NOT.
when my gig is up here, i will walk away and chalk it up to another very interesting experience of my life. i will think of the little bugger fondly, come and visit, and bring him treats. and maybe a little outfit for his birthday. i won't miss him, his puppy breath, or his big brown eyes. the way he jumps through the grass like a little cracked-out rabbit. the way he tilts his head and peers at you through his fabulous bangs, begging for you to pick him up and let him snuggle your neck.
nope. won't miss it one bit. not getting attached, don't care, whatevah.
he's a parasite-infested, stinky little poop butt.
that's my story and i'm sticking to it.
****
okay, the worm thing kinda knocked me out of orbit. i gotta get mah own poop together.
*sigh*
Check out TSB for the most legal fun you can have with your clothes on.
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