Meet my dog, Bella:
She is an Italian Greyhound, and as you probably know, her name is Italian for “Beauty”. This is ironic, because beauty is not typically associated with consuming fecal matter. That’s right–for some ungodly reason, Bella has an insatiable appetite for poo.
I know what you’re thinking–this guy’s dog is not that unusual…dogs like to eat disgusting things, even if it is the occasional poop-log.
The above statement is true, and I have had to pull many an unidentifiable piece of rotting garbage from my other dogs’ mouths. However, Bella is not just an opportunistic eater of shit, she goes out of her way to bury her nose in a pile of crap, and munch away with gusto. It is horrifying. She not only partakes in the piles of dog shit I have yet to clean-up, she actively seeks the truly fresh poo. Bella is a feces gourmand, and loves nothing more than to eat it directly from the source–she actually follows my 60 lb lab around the back yard and waits for her to squat. Once my lab starts pooping, Bella just sticks her head under her ass, and partakes in a little soft-serve.
I just gagged a little…
This behavior makes..me..so..ANGRY. I buy Bella very expensive, premium dog food…yet…she would prefer it if I just filled her bowl with steaming crap.
Once Bella has buried her nose in a pile of poop, she won’t stop if I yell, curse or scream. I have to run down into my backyard, and swat her away. So, if I am barefoot or if its in the morning before I have put in my contacts, she pretty much can feast on shit at her convenience. The best part is that her fucking head smells like a sewer after she is done.
One time she actually came back into the house with shit smeared on her nose. However, that incident doesn’t even come close to single most vile event to ever curse my existence:
Several years ago Bella must of eaten shit so rotten that it was even too foul for her so she puked a vomit/diarrhea mix all over my goddamn bed <shudder>. If there is a hell, we will be swimming in an ocean that consists of this mixture. No amount of dry cleaning could ever completely wash the ghost of that puke from the bed-spread, or my soul for that matter.
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