The shitting episode.

Today is kind of a big day for Bingo, and not in a good way. Well, not good for him, anyway. He's being de-testicle-ized as I type this, and hopefully the vet gave him LOTS of sedative. He's gonna need it.

See, since Bingo came to us through a rescue effort, I'm able to bring him to the low cost clinic to be snipped. The clinic is totally awesome and provides thousands of low cost and free spays and neuters every year. And since that's pretty much all they do, they have a system set up for checking in animals.

There's not a lot of room in the building, so they have you fill out some paperwork while you stand outside in line with your animal. There's usually fifteen or twenty animals being checked in at a time, with the cats all being contained in carriers and the dogs all on leashes. They bring in one animal at a time, so the wait outside can stretch for forty-five minutes or longer. People don't complain though, because where else are you going to get your dog fixed for twenty bucks?

This line is what caused the disgusting problem we had today.

As soon as we got out of the car, Bingo decided that he wanted to kill every other animal there. We were one of the last ones to show up, so there were plenty of creatures there for Bingo to lunge at and snarl at and basically make an ass of himself at. All the cats in their carriers ignored him, and most of the dogs just sat there looking at him, except for a little dachshund who was more than ready for the challenge. Bingo was pulling on his leash so hard that he reared up and hopped all the way to the line on his hind legs, and I'm not kidding.

There was one dog that Bingo took an immediate dislike to. It happened to be the largest rottweiler I have ever seen in my entire life. His head was easily waist high and weighed probably four hundred pounds. The rottweiler's expression was nonchalant, and if he could talk, I know exactly what he'd say: "Are you kiddin' me, punk?" (Also, he would say this in a Godfather-esque accent.)

Bingo was not pleased with the rottweiler's pacifism, so he upped the ante. In addition to barking and snarling, he started clawing the gravel, throwing rocks and dirt up in the air. All the other pet owners were looking at him sideways and kind of chuckling in disbelief, while the rottweiler just sat there. Great globs of drool hung from his mouth, and to be perfectly honest, I think he was laughing at Bingo too.

Apparently, Bingo doesn't like being laughed at.

All of a sudden, Bingo started shitting. It wasn't a typical dog-hunched-over-having-a-shit type shit. Oh no. It couldn't possibly be that simple. He was barking and snarling and foaming and clawing the ground and pieces of poop are literally flying out his ass. FLYING. OUT HIS ASS. A guy standing behind us had to jump out of the way to avoid the assault, which went on for at least five minutes.

Finally I quit telling Bingo to sit and just kicked him in the ribs. Not hard, of course, because I'm not a brutal person, but enough to get his damn attention and make him quit shitting. Although now that I think about it, I'm not sure if it was the kick in the ribs that did it, or if his pipes just ran empty. Either way, once he got that out of his system, he decided not to pursue the rottweiler after all. "You friggen asshole!" I hissed at him. "What the hell is wrong with you?" He just stared up at me, tongue lolling and looking like it had all been great fun.

Not much else happened of interest, although I did think it was telling that the very first thing that happened to Bingo upon entry into the building was a good solid dose of sedative. No doubt the staff decided to preemptively ward off another "episode." Can't say that I blame them, really.