Night of 1000 Dog Farts: Part 2

This is the second part to Night of 1000 Dog Farts: Part 1.

When last we joined our intrepid hero, he was elbow deep in dog excrement and begrudgingly playing a game of 'find the feces' in the living room.

The foster dog, Riley, had escaped from her crate using a combination of dog ninjitsu/ Nightcrawler style teleportation and eaten her entire body weight in Olive's special fish diet chow. She then shat on every surface in the house until I came home and found her.

Upon booting both Riley and Olive out of the house I had just completed my search for all of the dog messes. 45 minutes, 2/3 of a bottle of Resolve and an entire roll of paper towels later I believed I had found all the Lincoln logs there were to be found so I let the dogs back into the house.

Using one of the 621413057129371823957 plastic grocery bags that my wife compulsively hoards in our kitchen drawers, I gathered up all of the paper towels and other disjecta membra from my cleaning spree and took them out to the garbage can. A process which takes roughly 12 seconds to complete.


I considered writing a warning before continuing on to the next bit of the story but I figure if you've made it this far, you're in to the end. Strap in, it's about to get gross up in here.

When I came back in from depositing the trash outside, I discovered that like a poo seeking missile, Olive had located a giant dog poo I had missed near a lamp in the den and was in the process of devouring it like some sort of a lumpy brown afternoon snack.

I tried to stop her from polishing off the poo by yelling at her to get away from it while I rushed over, to no avail.






As thoroughly disgusting as this was, it was merely a brief glimpse of the horrors that would soon begin.

You may recall from Part 1 that I mentioned Olive is on a fish based diet because of a food allergy to poultry. An innocuous detail at the time, but I did say that it would prove to be important later.

Later being about an hour after the last of the cleanup and the poo eating took place. That's when the farts started.

At first it was just Riley. Her system was not prepared for Olives's special fish diet at all, so the fact that she had ingested a weeks worth of completely foreign chow over the course of an hour meant there was a battle raging in her intestines. The gurgling coming from that dog's stomach was audible from across the room and within minutes of the first warning signs, a full scale olfactory assault began.  


As everyone knows there are all kinds of different farts; regular farts, silent but deadly farts, church farts, meat farts, jogging farts and so on. Usually though only human farts get their own special titles, typically our canine friends have their malodorous emissions relegated to the blanket category of "Dog Farts."

The putrid expulsion of gas that started coming out of that dog was far and away too vile and reprehensible to share a classification with something so innocuous and hilarious as a dog fart. These were not the type of farts that smell for a second and then fade away into a fond memory memory of Fido tooting himself awake. No, these were the kind that settled in the air and lingered like a heavy, deadly fog. They clung to the furniture and burned the eyes. There was  no escape from it.

Ever smelled something so bad it coated your tongue and you could taste it for the rest of the day? It was like that. The smell was so bad it was basically like being suffocated  by a hitman wielding a rag soaked in liquefied rotten eggs that somebody pulled off of a river corpse.


As if it weren't toxic enough, about twenty minutes into Riley's intestinal emission torture Olive started farting as well. That giant goddamn turd I couldn't stop her from eating had apparently created some sort of bowel movement Trojan horse situation and carried whatever biological warfare was taking place inside of one dog over to the other.   


The Symphony of death farts was like a woodwind ensemble comprised entirely of anuses playing instruments making a mockery of Beethoven's Symphony No. 9.

It literally stunk up the entire first floor our our house. When Emily came home from work a few hours later, entering at the opposite side of the house from where the dogs were she said, and I quote "As soon as I walked in the door it was like getting punched in the face by a wall of farts"

Whatever interior distress these two dogs were going through was apparently not planning on resolving itself in any sort of timely fashion. A continual stream of stomach gurgling and dog farts carried on well into the night making the entire house smell vaguely of rancid meat and death.


By around 11:45 we were ready to go to bed, so upstairs we all went, two furry butts crop dusting the entire house on their way to the bedroom where we put them in the large crate that had their beds in it. The only problem was that what had been a neigh unbearable stench when there was a large open space for it to dissipate over became equivalent to tear gas when confined within the bedroom.

Besides not being able to breath or sleep, it was getting to the point where the stink was so foul and the two dogs looked so bloated, we were worried they might fart themselves to death. Emily called one of the vets she works with at  about 12:00 AM to explain the situation and ask what we could do about it.

The answer? Go to the store and buy an anti-gas medicine. Those pills where the commercial is various people looking really uncomfortable while watching a sports game, going on a picnic or having a job interview as tuba music plays in the background? Those.


Apparently its cool to feed those to dogs in case you were wondering. 

So good news and bad news. Good news is we can give the dogs some of these fart pills and it should stem the tide of their murder poots. Bad news is I have to go out to Walmart past midnight on a Tuesday to purchase said fart pills.

Going to Walmart after midnight on a weeknight in order to purchase fart medicine is probably on my top list of things I never, ever want to do. Right behind fighting a wolverine with my bare hands and having Donald Trump lightly brush his cotton-candy-made-out-of-urine hair against my face.


First of all, the Walmart crowd can be rough at any time of the day but nobody goes to Walmart at midnight on a weekday for any normal reason. I was not looking forward to the parade of sweat pant wearing zombies buying-thirty five cans of wet cat food and a pair of Dora the Explorer child's rain boots I was about to be exposed to.

Second, the thought of having to go into a store and look a cashier in the face while I buy fart medicine is mortifying enough. The fact that I have to do it at midnight makes me want to light myself on fire.

To make matters even worse, for some reason my wife decided she needed cranberry juice since I was going out anyway.

This is my nightmare. It's going on 1 a.m on a Wednesday, I've waded through a sea of super high people looking for industrial sized Doritos, and probable murder-molesters to get my items and am now standing in front of a cashier who's pissed because not only does she have to work the bullshit 1 a.m shift, now she actually has to deal with somebody because here I come with my fart medicine and cranberry juice.



In my head it's like I've walked up to this stranger and announced I've got a case of the butt rumbles so severe that I had to leave my house at ONE IN THE GODDAMN MORNING to get medicine for it.

"How d'yo do ma'am? Just here to pick up some fart medicine in a desperate attempt to stem the explosive propulsion of methane that has been and may currently be firing out of my back end. Also, all this farting has made me thirsty and I've got a real hankering for some cranberry juice." 

Horrified at my predicament, I desperately needed to figure out a way to naturally slip it into the conversation that the medicine was for my dogs, not myself.


It went poorly. I'm not even sure what I said, but there isn't really a normal way to just drop in that you are buying fart medicine at 1 a.m. for some dogs completely unsolicited. 

I'm pretty sure I just convinced her more that the fart medicine was for me because of my weird excuse dropping, but she didn't say anything so I just got out of there as fast as possible.

In the end the fart medicine took care of the dog farts and everyone was able to get some sleep. But the house smelled for like two days afterwards.

Also, the cranberry juice was good.

The end.