When I hear a sentence starting with “there’s nothing worse than...” I usually think there definitely is something “worse than”. Walking past a bag of rotting spuds in the supermarket, you might be inclined to think “there’s nothing worse than the smell of a rotting spud”. In this instance, I would have to agree.
Our year-old puppy Spud’s breath had begun to pong. Every time he walked into a room, a cloud of the foulest odour followed. And engulfed the room. As the weeks went by, it grew stronger and more disgusting. It became almost unbearable to be around him. We initially put it down to the sheep pellets that had been sprinkled around some plants. He’d undoubtedly helped himself to a sneaky garden treat and, upon reading the label, we concluded it was possible they could have caused a toxic response in the pup’s gut. We cleared any remaining pellets and waited for the smell to improve. It didn’t.
Could it be coprophagia? Spud loves a wee munch on his own poo. Not uncommon, but yes, pretty gross. We did our research. Apparently, they prefer their poo when it’s fresh. Who wouldn’t? So we hovered, scooping up the poop while it was still steaming. The days went by with no change for the better. In fact, the stench increased. It was time to get that pup to the vet.
I had to delegate that unpleasant task to husband Ed. Spud has a tendency to get a little grouchy with people he’s not familiar with. They parked outside and the vet approached gingerly. Ed carefully prised open Spud’s clenched mouth as the vet shone his torch into the ponging cavity.
“It’s a stick,” he proclaimed.
