I love animals as much as the next person, but I must have been temporarily insane when I volunteered to foster eleven puppies for three weeks.

Yes, I said, eleven puppies. Why would anyone do that, you ask? Well, all I can say is that it seemed like a good idea at the time.

My 11-year-old daughter does not remember our dogs as puppies and is always clamoring for one. I thought this would be a fun way to do a good deed and give my child the experience she craved without a lifetime commitment to a new dog in the house.

I honestly had no idea how much a puppy pooped. Multiply that times eleven and it was poop-ageddon at my house.

They were corralled in a crate large enough for a Great Dane, but just like an over-populated city, there just wasn’t enough real estate for eleven puppies to do their business without sleeping in it.

They spent their days in a pen in the backyard and every night I put them to bed in a clean crate. In the morning, they were clamoring to be let out of what looked like a crime scene… only you know, it wasn’t blood.

Not only did I clean a crate every day that looked like a septic tank exploded, I also had eleven puppies covered in poop from head to toe every morning. In three weeks, I gave them six baths, which if you are doing the math, is sixty-six baths, but my efforts were futile. The stench was overwhelming within a matter of hours.

My daughter helped, but I couldn’t glove her up and send her into that toxic waste dump, so poop patrol was always my job.

At one point, I had something of a wine-fueled nervous breakdown. I was crying and mumbling things like, “The poop. It’s just too much. I can’t keep up.”

I think there were times when I was cleaning the crate that my mind left and went somewhere far, far away, maybe to a tropical beach where no one pooped.

When it was time to give them back, I cried like a baby. I nuzzled my favorite, the tiny runt named Fifi, until she was the last to go. My husband patted my shoulder and said soothingly, “It’s okay.” I replied, “If I’d had to keep them another week, I would be crying even harder.”

So here is what I learned from this experience, eleven puppies poop a lot and Disney is a big fat liar. Taking care of 101 Dalmatians is not physically possible without a guy showing up on your doorstep from the health department wearing a hazmat suit.

Comments are closed here.

join us

Fear of Missing Out?

Not now, not ever, my Queen! Be the first to get humorous entertainment, psychology and motherhood news about SMMs just like yourself.