I looked around for the rest of the disgusting mess, already dreading cleaning it up. I anticipated picking up tiny bits of shredded diaper and the foul, foul contents that diaper held. Then, I realized there were no more remains. No poop smeared across the deck. No diaper shrapnel littering the front yard. While I had some relief that I was spared that disgusting chore, I also had significant horror that my dog had actually consumed the better part of a poopy diaper. His stomach was filled with whatever that freaky absorbent material is that diapers are made of, undoubtedly rapidly expanding in his puppy tummy. And his tongue, well, let's not even talk about what his tongue was coated with.
We were at my mom's house recently and getting ready to sit down for dinner. A stinky-stinky-poo-poo diaper was detected. I changed my son, wrapped the offensive undergarment in a plastic bag and put it on the front porch so I could throw it away in the outdoor trash after dinner. (My mom doesn't have a Diaper Genie and the smell of fresh diaper is not an appetizing one, so I just wanted it out of the house...) However, I forgot that darn thing was out there and put the dog outside when he started begging at the table. He quickly discovered it and the rest is family infamy... I banned my kids from receiving kisses from him for a full week.
This isn't the first time that dog has bested me, but it is the grossest. Normally, he reserves his antagonistic behavior for my baked goods. Leftovers on the counter he ignores. Crackers cause him no concern. However, if I've just baked something and turn my back for a second, he's all over it. A Thanksgiving pumpkin cheesecake? He ate 3/4 of it, right out of the pan. A dozen red velvet cupcakes? Gone. Nary a wrapper or smidge of frosting to be found. The Buzz Lightyear cake I made for my son's second birthday? Beheaded. We nearly came to blows over Christmas as he attacked my baked goods with a vengeance. I'd set something out to cool, get distracted by the kids, and he'd pounce. Finally, I outsmarted him and took a tray of cookies into the garage to cool, so he couldn't get them. Of course, my son got a hold of four of them, when I was trying to load the kids into the car, cramming them all in his mouth at once (which is fairly impressive given that he's only two...). My husband asked me if it was depressing to be constantly outwitted by a dog and two toddlers. Yes, yes it is.
Of course, it's not always the dog's fault. It wasn't his fault that my son covered him in an entire box of Kleenex because he was worried that the dog was cold. In fact, in that situation, the dog managed to look remorseful, which is more than I can say for my son... It also wasn't the dog's fault that my daughter tried to put my mascara on him. It's also not his fault that my kids routinely reach things they shouldn't by using him as a step-ladder. It also wasn't his fault that when she was one, my daughter put my underpants around his neck. But, there you have it...
We got him just a week after my daughter's first birthday, when I was pregnant with my son. Our old dog had just passed away and the house was unbearable without our puppy. Through a friend, we found out that a respectable breeder had just had a litter of Golden Retriever puppies. My husband suggested that we go out there and look at them, then decide. I said no, we had to decide before we saw them, because there's no way anyone with half an inkling could ever say no to a Golden Retriever puppy, they're unbearably cute. So we got him, reasoning that we could have him trained before the new baby arrived. Ha! After my son was born, I watched Marley and Me and it was a bit too relatable for my comfort.
All that said, I do love the silly beast. I used to think he wasn't too bright, but after several incidents with him besting me in his quest for culinary concoctions, I've revised that opinion. He's a sweet boy -- with a sweet tooth.
While it was perhaps a bit crazy to get a puppy when I had a baby and another baby on the way, it's all worked out fairly well (except for poor Buzz Lightyear). I essentially have three toddlers and three puppies. They're all growing up together and climb all over each other, just like any good litter should.