|Jam, lying down, in front of some mirrors in the bathroom department. You would think this would be foreshadowing, wouldn't you?|
CRAP (so to speak!). Now I have two choices: Let him poo (not a choice!) or take him out (we are far from the entrance). But, and here's the big question: Has he actually committed himself, or is he just hunched like Bingo?
Mind you all of this is going through my head in a fraction of a second as Fred is walking off down the aisle.
What do I do? I have to check to see if he is committed. Otherwise I can carry him. So, I
I reach behind him.
I reach behind him and I feel for poo.
Yep. He's committed.
In a big way.
It falls into my left hand. Oh my God. I have poo in my hand. My dog just pooped in my hand. I look up and there are people in the aisle. Did they see him poop in my hand? This is a real life anxiety dream only I am fully clothed and holding poo! And my dog is going to pump out some more!
I leap up. I can't carry him with a hand full of poo, so a RUN down the aisle with poor Jam running after me like his underwear is around his ankles. We run as fast as we can to the exit. Mind you, Jam CANNOT POO IN COAT. So my main goal (aside from getting poo out of hand) is to get the coat off of him and let him shoot poo out his butt in a safe place.
Right there by the exit is an orange bucket with a garbage sack. OMG I have to get this poo out of my hand. I stop for a micro second to throw the poo into the bucket and in that microsecond Jam has squirted out another poo WHICH I HAVE CAUGHT! OMG. I throw that one away as well and run Jam out the door and over to the median grassy area and yank the coat off of him.
I can hear the sigh of relief as he finishes his poo. I can also her the laughter as one of the Home Depot customers walks out to his car.
I tell myself, I have on all my clothes. It could have been worse.