We walk down a quiet street, Luna prancing as she watches her surroundings while I smile at her contagious happiness. Her coat shines so brightly that it's as if the sun rays bounce off of her fur (it's all about the dog food).
A sudden stop. She begins to move with her bottom close to the ground, almost maniacally. Worms, I think to myself. She has tapeworms, which means I'll be spending the afternoon at the vet.
She walks a few feet on the pavement and crouches in the way that dogs do when they are ready to poop. Cars drive by as she moves from one spot to another. I stand on the street, mortified that my dog can't find a better, more private place to do her bathroom business.
She begins to walk in circles and it is then that I notice something is, how to I say this eloquently, hanging from her rear end. Dear sweet Jesus, she has a tapeworm hanging from her ass...and she can't push it out. I curse and talk to myself out loud, acknowledging that I will be the one to have to pull this worm out of her.
She sits on the floor and barks at me, her eyes pleading, "Do something! Fast!"
I watch as more cars drive past us and people walk by on the sidewalk, putting a dog poop bag on my hand and making sure my arm is covered as high as the bag will go.
I pull the dog off of her feet and she runs in circles as long as the leash will allow. Finally, I tug at her collar and bring her to me. As I get closer to the tape worm, I realize I was very wrong in my diagnosis.
The tapeworm is actually Kleenex that has made its way through the dog's intestines after she devoured it in the wee morning hours, probably after munching on the spine of a children's book. It now looks like a long, thin worm.
And still, tissue paper. I am in my neighborhood, on a public street in full view of living room windows and little kids and their moms walking home from the park, pulling tissue paper from my dog's ass.
The task complete, I grab her muzzle and look into her brown eyes. "Stop eating paper, you dumb b*tch."
I hear the words in my head, "Who are you calling b*tch? You're the one with the boys who leave the stupid Kleenex on their beds in the morning. Why don't you make THEM put it in the garbage?"
The dog's rear is clean. The poop bag is full and sealed off. We continue our walk and return home. The boys are going to love this story, I tell myself. I was right; the laughed themselves to tears.
I remember the conversation I had with my husband in the weeks before we decided to get a dog. The discussion where I convinced him that I was ready for the responsibility of owning a puppy.
"You realize you are going to be cleaning up dog poop all the time," he said. At the time, Q. was still in diapers.
"You're joking," I laughed, "I clean up crap all day. Wiping a kid's butt. Scooping up dog poop. Poop is poop."
How wrong I was.
She still eats Kleenex and her love of crayons makes for colorful poop.
But now she's two, and still the cutest, most cuddled puppy we've known.
Happy birthday, Luna Lovegood.
