In every conversation that I’m having with F now, the subject arises.
How many? What type? Where?
I remember when it used to happen before but you knew that was ending just as soon as the little barsteward learnt NOT to do it inside.
I am, of course, talking about shit. To be more precise, dog shit.
Now it is the same but different. Given Rufus’ situation, every time I am looking for solid or, at least, semi-solid. Definitely not runny. And, ‘where’ and ‘how many’ becomes – one in the house; two in the house; two outside or whatever.
You get my drift.
I really have to stop talking about it every time we talk 
Especially the “what type” question.
Last week Duick had problems too and, while I was having lunch at home with a friend, my mum walked the dog. As soon as she stepped into my house I asked “what type”?
My friend, who doesn’t particulary like dogs and thus doesn’t understand my unconditioned love for Duick, was bewildered and didn’t get the question.
These kind of hot topics are very common among “parents”
Yes, I know what you mean. I think the only people who really understand are dog owners
And, yes indeed, I almost feel like I have children, especially when all I can think about is their toilet behaviour!
an all too familiar conversation when one has pets and/or kids (and as we age, it can be about adults too) :-)’
love you
Gail;
peace…..
Yes, indeed, Gail. But I did think that our every conversation should not be about shit