This is Maggie, a three-year old Cockapoo rescued from the shelter by my mother.
Weighing just 11 pounds, Maggie is little pooch who gives my Mom big attention.
Maggie is very social, rarely barks and only on occasion will do her business on the floor. Otherwise, she is the perfect companion!
Hey wait, I thought this was about MS! Where’s the MS connection? If I want a dog story, I’ll watch “Animal Planet!” Now get to the MS, you Lassie-lover!
Pardon me. The MS. Yes, of course.
My most visible MS condition…..is foot drop. I’ve always thought it should be called “foot-drag,” because that is how I walk. Step…drag. Step…drag. Step…drag. (It’s pretty obvious when I’m in the vicinity of the beach or there is snow on the ground as I leave a distinctive trail!)
It was a usual overnight visit at my Mom’s house…dinner, hanging out, talking and watching TV.
I excused myself and went upstairs to bed around midnight.
Nature called several hours later (I’m a middle-aged man, my bladder is the size of a dixie cup). I rolled out of bed and did my usual step-drag across the hall to the powder room.
The accused.
Half way there I dragged my right foot into a wet spot. “Oops, Maggie?” I wondered.
I pulled my foot back and felt around with my hand. Nothing. I chalked it up to a weird MS sensation and continued my “step-drag” into the bathroom and then back to bed.
The hours that followed were a restless slumber of tossing, turning & flopping.
In the morning I arose, walked into the hallway and froze….shocked by what I saw before me. The sight made the Sharon Tate murder scene look tame.
It was fecal carnage.
Brown streaks were sloppily smeared into the light colored carpeting like a Jackson Pollock painting.
All the way into the bathroom, and all the way back into my bedroom.
Upon further “CSI” investigation, I found a turd bit just inside the doorway of the adjacent bedroom.
Piecing together the crime scene, I speculate the events happened as follow…
“I stepped in the sh&%. Upon feeling the wetness, I pulled my foot back and felt the carpeting with my hand. I felt nothing because the doggie-dung had fastly cemented itself to my instep. Then, because I must throw my right foot forward to step, I used “kung-poo power” to kick a turd into the next room.”
But it was a small bit. Where might the rest of Maggie’s dung be?
You wouldn’t think?
I step-dragged back into my bedroom.
I took a deep breath to collect myself. Throwing back the sheets, I thought only of the horse-head scene from “The Godfather.”
There, between my bedsheets was the remainder of Maggie’s product.
My God, it looked like a rohrshock test. I’ve seen cleaner baby diapers. The sleep number of this bed was definately number two! How could this tiny, 11 pound Cockapoo inflict such “Cujo” like damage?
So it goes. Life with MS adds character to everyday situations. To be sure, it’s tale wagging fun!
August 16th, 2010 at 10:39 am
I am laughing so hard – ok – more like giggling because I’m at work and would hate to draw attention to myself. (SHHHHH!) But my niece sent me your link and told me I HAD to read it. So glad I did!! You sound like you share our philosophy on life (for the most part) – you can laugh or cry – we choose laughter. She has had MS for years (and we live in MS – how coincidental – at any rate – she is an inspiration to me! She deals with whatever comes her way with such heart (and lots of teeth grinding and deep breathes!). I’m so glad she told me about your website – I will have to hang around and see what’s up with you and the family, if you don’t mind. Look forward to the wisdom, knowledge and most of all – LAUGHTER! Grace & blessings your way today!
August 16th, 2010 at 2:32 am
I have got to say first I am new to your site, but by georgie like you. I to had foot drop, so I know exactly what you’re talking about. The worse for me was having that & being totally numb on my left side, both feet & that dang feeling like my feet were trying to wake up. I love this, as I was reading I was laughing so hard my sons dog got up to look at me. My moment of embarrassment was at the chiropracters office. After getting adjusted, and feeling a little woozy, as I was leaving, I tripped on nothing, just didn’t pick my foot up far enough. A gentlemen sitting there sorta jumped asked if I was all right. With what dignity I had left, I said yes, I have MS, with foot drop & walked out the door. Thank you so much for the good laugh.
August 6th, 2010 at 9:06 pm
Donna,
Welcome to My Odd Sock! Your twisted sense of humor will be right at home here. Help yourself to the buffet and clean towels are in the cabinet.
Thanks for reading!
August 5th, 2010 at 2:59 pm
First time at your site…read about it in the MS magazine “Momentum”.
Have to say I love your attitude- if you can’t laugh, you’ll cry just sometimes. I’ll be back for some of your twisted humor (we have that in common too!)
July 31st, 2010 at 10:14 am
LOL!!!
July 23rd, 2010 at 6:05 pm
Anna,
Don’t worry, most readers of My Odd Sock vomit after reading the material.
Thanks for visiting My Odd Sock!
July 22nd, 2010 at 3:32 pm
I don’t know if I should laugh or vomit politely into my convenient near-the-computer vomit bag.
My daughter is named Maggie. She’s the only person I know named Maggie… every other Maggie is a dog.
July 20th, 2010 at 8:11 am
Does the victim of this heinous crime have a weak sense of smell? I’ve stepped in my dogs’ doo many a time and smelt it way before I saw it!
July 20th, 2010 at 12:36 am
I commend your mom on getting the dog from the pound as a rescue and not wasting hundreds of dollars…ok, off the rant.
I can only imagine the horror…and the stomach churning urge to puke upon sight of the disaster area. It’s like our cat puking through the house and the wet surprise in the morning darkness. Now, on the other side of the coin, what did you do to make that poor puppy plant a minefield in your path?
Sock, I sure hope it came out of your white fabric…we don’t want you turning dark on us all. 