Bad Parenting

So, today I had to take my dog, Chloe, to the vet. This visit was partly a routine visit for shots, and partly because she has a serious crapping issue. You see, about a week ago, Chloe ate a bunch of stuff including a piece of a rubber tennis ball she destroyed, pieces of broken tile from a bathroom project Amy has been working on for several weeks now, and a pencil because well, she found a pencil and felt like eating it.


Now, this type of feasting is not abnormal for Chloe, but this time around, something appeared to get stuck...or so I thought. Soon after eating this stuff, Chloe showed signs of distress when trying to drop a number 2 in the backyard. She'd strain and arch her back funny, flail around trying to look back there to see what's going on, and stop short of completion, after flinging the few pieces of poop she could get out all over the place. Obviously, someone needed to look into this, thus the doctor's visit.

So, we get to the vet and I give the doctor the rundown on what's been happening with Chloe. As I'm telling him this story, I'm thinking to myself, is he judging me? Am I a bad dog owner because I allowed my dog to eat rubber, ceramic and wood? I'm pretty sure if I went to a real doctor with these same problems for a child, he'd probably call in some outside "counselors." But hell, she's a dog right? My old dog, Clyde, had to have a surgery to remove a deer hoof and a koosh ball from his stomach, so maybe it's just a dog thing? Or maybe bad parenting runs in my family?

I've turned out pretty normal, as have my two brothers, so I'm thinking that's not the case. I mean, we never ran around like crazed idiots trying on display shoes at the Champs Sports when we were kids. And we certainly didn't stroll over to another table at a restaurant and disturb a couple as they were enjoying their dinner. And we definitely did not jam our toys in the skimmers and main drain of a pool, causing it to clog the system and require hours of work to remove. Yeah, I think we're OK.

So, I finish the story and the doctor takes Chloe in the back to "check things out." I had a bout of colitis a few years back, so I can feel for Chloe's dilemma over the next few minutes...ugh...and when the doctor returns he gives me his prognosis.

Well, he checked around in there and found that the anal or skunk glands had gotten a bit overfilled. This has actually happened before because Chloe has for some reason not learned the age old dog trick of the scoot, whereby she would cleanse these glands by scooting around on her ass, much to the amusement of all onlookers. Well, more than likely, these swollen glands have been rubbing against the poo as it passes and causing her discomfort. A quick purging of the glands and she's more than likely good to go. What do you know? Doesn't appear to have been the rubber, ceramic and wood after all. I guess I'm not a bad parent as originally perceived.

So, we get back into the car, Chloe jumps on my lap, and we drive away.

What's that? Screw you for judging me!