The Best Thing My Husband Gave Me

I want to say off the bat that I’m sorry it’s been a while since I’ve posted. I also want to apologize for the content of this post as my first one in a while. It’s a ramble that came to me on my drive home, and is likely not everyone’s cup of tea, so if you’re not into reading about dogs pooping (yup, we’re headed somewhere weird) and want to stop reading right now, I will not hold it against you.

There’s something called the Pooping Dog Phenomena. Don’t Google it because I just made it up, and you’ll just get lots of articles related to dog pooping but not what I’m about to discuss. As far as I know, this is the only source for this information, so buckle up buttercup.

That’s where our story begins: riding down the road in my husband’s MangoTango Jeep Wrangler with the doors off (because he was a badass/showoff/too lazy to put them back on before a first date and I was a badass/good sport/trying to impress him with how carefree I could be *ha*). It was a very early date — possibly the first — certainly before we’d labeled each other boyfriend/girlfriend. I’d developed a habit in those days of pointing and yelling “puppy!” whenever I saw a dog (okay, I still sometimes do this), and so without thinking that this was a guy I hardly new and wanted to impress, I spotted a dog  walking with his human and shouted “puppy!” and then settled back into my seat to wait for my then-not-even-boyfriend to pull over and politely ask me to get out and never contact him again.

Instead, he looked where I was pointing, and I was mortified to realized the dog had squatted and begun to do his business. I insisted he hadn’t been doing that a second ago, but my husband just laughed and said “dogs are always pooping when I see them.” I was sure he was just being nice.

Until a few days later when it happened again. I noticed a dog and by the time my husband looked, she was dropping a deuce and glowering at us. He was like “I told you! It happens every time.”

Surely not every time? Yes, every time. To this day, my husband induces more doggy-dumps than laxatives. It could be mere coincidence, but I’ve (only slightly) objectively observed this phenomena for six years now, and vastly more often than not, dogs decide it is doody-time when he’s around.

He’s passed the PDP on to me. Remember the carefree youth who would yell “puppy!” with such delight whenever she saw a frolicking dog of any age? Now she still gets that happy flutter in her chest, but approximately fifty-percent of the time, it’s tempered by said puppy’s sudden urge to go.

However, because of my husband’s simple acceptance of the Pooping Dog Phenomena, his easy laugh and shrug and “that’s just how it goes I guess” attitude, I can’t help but smile when it happens to me. So if you’re ever out for a jaunt with your furry friend and notice a girl grinning when he takes a dump, it’s me and I’m sorry. It just makes me think of my husband. In the best way.