A Good Thesaurus Would Have Viable Options For The Word F.A.R.T.
There’s a little known secret about my dog Mooch. No, not the one about her zest for rolling in raccoon poop. Nope, this is a completely different story. Long ago, in a land far, far away, when Mooch was just three months old, she discovered something about herself, and the something she discovered was quite terrifying. In fact, she’s been so traumatized by this event that she is to this very day still terrified of anything that remotely resembles such an occurrence as the one she experienced one ill-fated day in the safety and security of her own backyard.
Being just three months old, everything was new and exciting for Mooch. She loved to go outside and sniff around the yard. She especially loved all the critters she encountered, and she loved to smell the flowers blooming here and there. One evening, as it was nearing dusk, Mooch had to go outside to potty. This was not so unusual. All she had to do was convince her guardian to get off the computer and open the back door. Her guardian, which happened to be none other than the novelist C. D. Blizzard could sometimes be reluctant to comply, but a puppy that had to go potty was a very convincing reason to go outside.
Off we went, hurrying out into the cool dusky evening. I stood and gazed at the sky while Mooch selected a poop zone. Since she was a puppy, she hadn’t yet acquired her poop zone, so she pretty much just went anywhere. I was rather embarrassed at being seen with a dog in a potty hunch, so I usually tried to look inconspicuous and otherwise occupied, as if I didn’t realize my dog was doing you-know-what in front of God and everyone. But on this particular day, Mooch would make certain that I noticed.
I happened to take my gaze off the sky long enough to glance at my puppy to make sure she was okay. Mooch was just settling into hunch mode and ready to do her work. Except for one small problem. As she was preparing to make you-know-whatie, a sound suddenly emanated from her rearend. This was not like any sound she had ever heard before, not to mention that it was coming from her very own butt. The sound startled her so that she twitched and turned her head, still in the potty hunch, to investigate. When she saw that nothing was behind her, she scooted forward a few paces, still in the potty hunch, trying to put some distance between herself and the odd, scary sound.
Once again, she relaxed and settled into trying to make potty. Oh, no!!! There it was again! That scary sound coming from her butt! She flinched, jerked her head around to investigate, and with somewhat more urgency than before, she scooted forward about a yard, still in the potty hunch. She looked at me as if I could save her from this scary sound. I was too busy laughing my a** off to explain. I could NOT believe my eyes, or my ears. My dog was scared of her own flatulence. I could see by the look on her face that she was truly terrified.
Giggling like a kid, I watched as my dog once again relaxed and tried to make potty. This time, she glanced at her backside a few times, still in the potty hunch, just to reassure herself that nothing frightening was behind her, or hiding in her behind to jump out and scare her. Again, she began the process, and again, her behind made that terrifying sound. This time, she nearly jumped a foot off the ground, still in the potty hunch, ran forward as fast as she could go considering that she was still hunched over, ears flapping, face pinched into worried wrinkles, until she was halfway around the yard. There, that ought to put some distance between herself and that scary, weird noise coming from behind her. She twisted her head around and examined her butt as best she could, still in the potty hunch, and then set about making the most of her moment. Too bad for her, the sound that had been tormenting her reared its ugly horn again. Looking terrified, she yelped, and was sent scurrying forward a few yards, still in the potty hunch. By this time, I was laughing so hard I was having some serious continence concerns of my own, as in I was about to pee in my pants I was laughing so hard.
As fast as she could, she made her potty business. Once it was accomplished, she ran as fast as she could to the back door and begged to get inside before the butt monster came and ate her up. When I could finally walk, I made my way to the door and managed to open it for her, but I was beset by hysterical laughter that kept me doubled over most of the way.
She looked up at me as though I had betrayed her in some way, and looking offended shoved past me to go inside.
“You’re not going to be a very good watch dog, are you?” I muttered as she went by.
And that was the day it began for Mooch. The terror would occasionally rear up again over the years, only to send her scurrying from the room, wherever she happened to be, always looking backwards at her butt and never fully understanding why it made that weird, scary sound when she least expected it. Soon, she was famous throughout the land as the dog who was terrified of her own flatulent emanations.
C. D. Blizzard is the author of the novels Blackwater, Broken, and Profile.
