Dogs are gross.

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One of the many undelightful things about being me, is my piss weak stomach. It began when my kids were babies and I had to change nappies. It became a real problem as I would wipe and dry wretch my way through this revolting task. I am not going to go into descriptions, but I gather you know how repugnant and unusual contents of babies nappies can be.

If you do not know what I am talking about, consider yourself very, very lucky.

My close mates know this about me, and when they start telling me a story that may set me off, I silence them with a single finger.

But occasionally, they ignore me.

Like the time The Divine Ms. M gave me a thorough description of the time her cat Carol had a cyst. That set me off for a good twenty minutes. And the time, while we were discussing why talking about things can make me throw up, she was telling me about her own trigger. Which was when she pulls a bag of dead lettuce out of the fridge, and there is black slime water in it. I actually chundered into her sink.

This condition is hard to live with when you have pets. Why, just this morning I was engaged in a Huffy Puffy session with the gals, when I had to do 6 push ups. I got into position, when I notices a small, fresh, perfectly formed dog turd right beneath me. Again, for self-preservation I will not go into further descriptions, but suffice to say I am happy that we have a traditional THUNDER BOX at the back of our house.

Over the weekend, my boundaries were pushed to the brink. On waking on Saturday, we realised that the dog had eaten Jack’s blue hearing aid molds. This was a massive problem. There was only half of one left. I cursed. Then I got on the blower to every audiologist from Mosman to Hornsby, begging for an appointment. My request went unfulfilled. Jack could not hear a thing.

I gave up calling around when I noticed that Isobel the Hearing Aid connoisseur had started dry retching. I ran over to her, and bolted outside just in time for her to deposit a small vomit onto the pavement. Contained in that vomit was one intact, whole hearing aid mold.

My head and my stomach spoke strongly to each other, until a nano-second before it looked like the dog was going to eat it again, my head won the battle as I scooped up the mold and ran, screaming, to the kitchen. I threw it into the sink and ran the hot water over it, while trying to late the Domestos. Despite strong objections from my son, eventually, I was able to convince him that it was as good as new.

“But it has touched her liver!” He exclaimed.

Anyway, later that day I had to look after my neighbours dogs. In the came, wage tails a go-go. Straight outside they went where one of them found the little vomit…. and, (deep breath Mrs. Woog. You have come so far….) ate it. I hadn’t cleaned it up yet as I was waiting for Mr. Woog to come home to deal with it.

And that is why dogs are gross. And that is my I cannot watch Dr. Pimple Popper.

Do you have an iron gut?

What makes you queasy?