Well I thought Saints held this title (and Carol was the annointed Poopimus Maximus), but in the last 24 hours I have stolen the crown and my house has become the House at Poop Corner.
Isaac is very ill. I came home to one dead-to-the-world dog (which gave me a moment of severe anxiety until I saw the tail give a feeble wag), and stains all over the carpet. Before he could reach the back door, sh*tspolsion happened. I didn't know one could end up with poop four feet up the walls, all over the fridge and washer and dryer, all over one's self, and across three rooms, all within a 60 second episode.
He slept in the little mud room last night -without pacing for a change - but had another episode during the night. I will be taking him to the vet today. At the moment he is up and pacing and wondering why I'm not letting him on the carpet. He is such a trooper, but is breathing heavily, and his liver may be failing. I think his time is very near. Please keep him in your thoughts.
Well, once again Isaac has rallied. I really thought we would be losing him during the night - he hadn't eaten for 36 hours, he hadn't pee'd since yesterday morning, he wasn't responding to me or even watching me let alone following me around.
He slept in Charley's mudroom again (Charley got to sleep on the couch so she's not quite as pissed as when I put her in the kitchen the night before), and I didn't hear a peep all night. I opened the door with great trepidation this morning, to find a bright perky squooshy face looking at me and laughing. He did do a face plant trying to go out for a pee, but since then has been trotting all over the house with me.
He's still not eating though - I think he's holding out for something tastier than kibble and canned duck and potato. He does love the hotdogs in which I hide his pills!