My dog and I both have IBS, which is quite amusing at some times -- and frustrating at others. Having to wake up at three AM to a dog that is whining, pawing at your face, and howling in pain to GO OUTSIDE NOW!! isn't always fun, but I'd rather do that than deal with the aftermath. On one particular occasion, our cases of IBS clashed -- which made for some quite interesting poop reporting.

I was working out on my elliptical trainer one afternoon when Scout came over to me and started pacing around, whining, whimpering, and walking around by the patio door. These are her signals that she has to go out. I figured that she could wait until I was done with my workout, so I ignored her. She kept up with the whining and started actually barking in pain, she had to go so bad. But I guess I still figured she could hold it, so I still ignored her. About two minutes later, she was over by the patio door and she started to squat and spewed liquid doggie poo all over the carpet.

I leapt off the elliptical machine and put her out right away. I cleaned up the mess and used our Little Green Machine to get everything out of the carpet so we wouldn't lose our security deposit. When my husband came home that night, I informed him that Scout had an IBS attack, so she wasn't supposed to get any treats. (He likes to give her pickled herring and corned beef fat scraps from his lunch.) The rest of the night, Scout seemed to be okay -- a couple more trips outside to do her liquidy doo, and she was fine.

The next morning, I decided to go for a run. I often get runner's trots, which can sometimes strike me in the oddest places. This particular day, I made it completely through my seven-mile run with not so much as a stray fart. I was pretty astounded, actually... my bowels were cooperating for once!

Until I got to the block that my apartment is on. My bowels spazzed and I instantly felt the urge to go. I was maybe half a block away when I just couldn't run anymore. I slowed to a walk and carefully waddled toward my door and toward the bathroom. I was in the front lawn, about two steps away from the door, when my colon decided to empty -- and it was not going to be pretty. I couldn't do anything but drop my pants and let the load go right next to the front steps. Luckily there were bushes there and no one was around, so after I expelled about three quarts of semi-liquid, brownish-green sludge, I quickly ran inside and into the bathroom to clean up.

I didn't think about the mess in the yard until my husband came home.

"Hey hon... what IS that in front of the house? Looks like someone threw a mud pie or something."

Suddenly I remembered what he was talking about. Uh oh. "Oh, that. Yeah, I'll get a baggie for it in a second."

"What's it from?"

"Um, Scout did it. You know how she had the craps last night...? Well, I took her out this morning and she left that."

"Scout... did... THAT???? Oh my God, what'd you FEED her?? That pile of shit's as big as SHE is!"

"Uh, yeah, I know... Pretty gross, huh?"

"Well, get a baggie...or four. That probably won't fit in one bag."

"Yeah, good thinking."

So my husband looked on as I took two Wal-Mart bags and scooped my own poo. It was humiliating beyond belief, but at least I blamed it on Scout. My husband never knew any different, and he will never find out that it was me who did it. So sometimes, having a dog with IBS can be a good thing.