OK, this is gross, but it must be written. Because I am sure this has happened to at least one other person out there. Anyone? Anyone?
My dog, a smelly old weiner dog with rancid breath and wretched farts, snatched a used tampon from my bathroom garbage can (yes, it has a lid), ATE it, and then POOPED IT OUT in our backyard. If that doesn’t blow out the disgust-o-meter, I don’t know what does.
As the action went down, I watched on curiously through the kitchen sliders. All said, it was better than HBO on Sunday night. He spent the better half of an hour trying to pinch it off, tail spastically jacking it out like a old-fashioned water pump. A more compassionate dog owner might have gone out there to help expunge it. But imagine what THAT would’ve looked like. I love my dog, but not enough to dig a dirty tampon out of his blowhole. Even if I were inclined to perform said sphincter surgery, what would I use? Two sticks? A pair of tongs? I think not. Instead, I let nature take its course. If he didn’t make it through this ordeal, then he wasn’t meant to. I’d just have to chalk it up to doggy Darwinism.
Well, he eventually passed the putrid little plugger. Smack dab in the middle of our backyard, which is smack dab in the middle of suburbia. Before I could get out there and scoop it up with the pooper scooper, my husband ran over it with the lawn mower and POOF! A feather-dusting of white fluffy tampon particles fluttered down from the sky. I imagine few tampons experience such a dramatic exit. For most, it’s a simple burial at sea.
If I had been inclined to recite an obit, it wouldn’ve gone something like this. “Farewell old friend. You did your job — passing not through one orifice, but two. And for that, you get the grandest send-off of all. Asses to asses. Dust to dust. Be off, you nasty thing, you. Return to the earth, the cotton fields from whence you came. For your work here is done.”