This post is about poop, so if that bothers you stop reading it now.
I learned two things on our drive to Chicago last week. First, that my dog has a really good memory. At our first hotel in Georgia, I took Chandler out for walkies, and after fifteen minutes of searching he found the exact spot that he had pooped on the year before, so he pooped right on that spot. Twenty four hours later, at our hotel in Nashville, after five minutes of walkies, I realized that he needed to find last year’s poop spot. Sure enough, after I walked him across the street to the rival hotel, Chandler pooped on their lawn.
Another thing that I learned on our drive to Chicago this year is that you should not take a laxative the night before you leave for a long drive. About two hours into our trip last Wednesday, I found myself sitting in a temporary roadside toilet facility. It seems that the Florida Turnpike Authority had decided to rebuild the bathrooms near Fort Pierce. So I sat there in the bathroom trailer, bouncing on the toilet as each semi truck roared by, relieving myself like a Kennedy Space Center booster rocket. It wasn't pretty.
Another thing I learned is not to believe (redacted) when he says he feels fine. I know, I said I learned two things, but this is something I already knew. It is Sunday and we are sitting in an emergency room in Chicago. Apparently (redacted) didn’t feel as good as he thought he did when we left on Wednesday.