Can anyone explain to me why I continue to love and care for a disgusting little 4 legged creature who likes to snack on used feminine hygiene products?
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He is ever watchful, just waiting for me to slip up and provide him with an opportunity to dine on bloodied cotton. He leaves no trash can unturned at the most inopportune moments.
For years I have thwarted him by leaving no evidence of my monthly curse behind. Tampons were the bane of his existence. Once soiled, easily flushed away, no tempting morsel to be dragged out of the trash and gobbled up despite my horrified shrieking when I'd catch him in the act.
Until, that is, we moved to the country. A place no self respecting city girl should ever go, no matter how tempting. I fell in love with the house on the lake, the pretty scenery, the wildlife, the peaceful chirping of birds and crickets. What can I say, I was naive. Nobody explained to me the joys of having a septic system. They didn't warn me that instead of the nice double quilted super poofy toilet paper I'd been buying for years, that I would need to start buying single ply, paper thin, crappy asswipe (no pun intended) instead. Evidently, civilized toilet paper is too much for a septic system to handle. Then it dawned on me that if my toilet was too wimpy to handle even normal toilet paper, what was I supposed to do with my tampons??? I asked my boyfriend. I asked the lady next door. I asked the plumber. And yet still I could not comprehend the sheer horror of it. WHAT DO YOU MEAN I CANT FLUSH A TAMPON??? ARE YOU NUTS??? TAMPONS ARE SUPPOSED TO BE FLUSHABLE!!!! After 6 defiant months of flushing them anyway, I began to realize I was asking for trouble. Sooner or later all those flushed tampons marinating in the sludge of the septic tank were going to come back to haunt me. I decided to try and break a 20 year habit of "yank-drop-flush" and do menstruation "country style"
I try to be ladylike. I try to be discreet. I wrap the offensive item in toilet paper so the men in my house don't have to see them lingering in the trash can when they open the lid. But then, alas, there is the dog. The little bastard betrays me every month. He somehow manages to become "The Bathroom Bandit"
And so I found myself cooking dinner last night. Slaving away in the kitchen preparing a nice family meal. I was buzzing about, happy as a clam, humming as I worked as if I was possessed by June Fucking Cleaver. And then it happened. The boyfriend and 10 year old son walk in the door. Kisses hello, how was your day, yada yada yada... And as I happily chattered back at them as I pulled dinner from the oven, I sensed the uncomfortable silence coming from the living room. "Uh... Hon?" I walked into the room where my boyfriend and son were standing, and there it was. Gettysburg, the bloodiest battle of the Civil War, all over my rug. The dog had managed to tip over the bathroom garbage...AGAIN! He dragged out 4 or 5 neatly wrapped tampons into the living room while my back was turned and shredded them like confetti all over my floor. A toddler in a white room with a bowl of spaghetti could not have made a bigger mess if they tried. As I scrambled to dispose of the bloody tatters of cotton, I was made to suffer even further indignities as I was peppered with questions by the boy who wanted to know what was all over the rug, and why on Earth the dog would actually want to EAT it?? Welcome to my own personal version of Hell, the ultimate in humiliation. I kid you not.
So to my dog, unless you want to go out and play on the highway, I beg of you... PLEASE DON'T EAT MY TAMPONS!!!