The other day I was sitting on the bench at the end of the bed putting on my shoes when I glanced up and saw a long brown streak on the wall a little higher than eye level. I walked over to get a better look and figure out what it was. You can imagine the look on my face when I realized it was dried dog slobber. Gross! Of course this isn’t the first time I’ve found dried dog drool on the walls, it is almost a daily occurrence around here. Ever since we brought Orso home we’ve had this phenomenon. So you’d think I would be used to finding it by now, but every time I spot a new blob of drool, I get grossed out.
I’m pretty sure there is a Saint Bernard hiding in that Labrador body. I’ve never seen a dog drool quite as much as him. Orso will be walking along and drool will be hanging down swaying back and forth with each step getting longer and longer. The long tendril will even pick up stray debris and add to the drool creating a sort of anchor at the end. It’s really disgusting looking. Mitch will take his shoe and knock it off, no big deal, but not me, I do not want that anywhere near me. I’ll take a twig to try and snag it, but I am not going to touch it with any part of my anatomy, unh huh no way. Yuck! I am pretty sure it is some sort of toxic waste or something like that.
What amazes me the most is how in the world it ends up splattered on the furniture, the walls and occasionally me. That is probably the grossest feeling in the world getting hit with flying drool. My stomach usually turns over a couple of times when that happens. Then I rush to go bathe.
Now my life is reduced to doing daily wall checks, where I walk around each room and check for fresh slobber shrapnel. I have found it as high as above the door jam, how he got it almost seven feet high amazed us both, but it usually is about five foot off the ground that I find most of Orso’s weapons. There is nothing more embarrassing than washing down all the walls and as soon as someone stops by the first thing anybody sees is the remains of a fresh nasty slobber blob at eye level.
That’s my dog.
A woman's view of hunting...with men 
Ha — I could never own a St. Bernard — even a man has a slobber gross-out limit 🙂
Oh man I’ll tell you, it is thoroughly disgusting.
I love dogs dearly – but no doggies kisses for me 🙂
I’m with you, I’ve seen where those mouths have been and what they put in them.
LOL we have a dog with big time slobber too. Sometimes it hangs from Thunder’s mouth like ropes. 🙂
It’s amazing how long they can get and gross.
My two bestest furiends are a St. Bernard and a Great Pyrenees mix and let me tell you, slobber is their middle name! So, we know where you’re coming from. 🙂
Oh my, you’re lucky you don’t come away soaked after a play day!
I guess I can tell my person that my slobber isn’t nearly as bad as she thought. I just try to get the tennis balls all slobbered up before I give them back to her.
Yeah slobbery tennis balls are really gross, because I usually don’t have anything with me to wipe my hands with so I walk around holding the slobbered had hand away from me like it’s going to fall off or something.
The seven- and nine-foot-high marks are probably due to Orso drooling, then shaking his head, like they do when shaking off water…. I can see a good piece of half-solid drool flying a good thirty feet if not interrupted by a wall, so be thankful you weren’t in the room when those were deposited…. 😆 Gotta love an animal that makes gross seem cute….
Yeah, what else is there to do but love them. The gross with the cute.
Thank you Susan for reminding me why my mother never ever allowed house dogs – my pet dog can do what he liked but firmly in the yard and the chicken coop. Don’t worry – the chicken kept him in line 🙂
Come to think of it, I can’t handle drool of any sort from anything living. Yucks!
I am not a fan of drool either. Toxic waste for sure.
I was reading recently about the increasing encroachment of bears upon suburban areas, and an official actually made sure to warn people not to try to pet them. I’m thinking, “Well some people have to win Darwin Awards.
We all have our crosses to bear.
My friend and I were camping once (not really; we were in a camper) and we were about to go down to the creek one night for a beer. I said, “Hold on so I can grab some weed.” Had I not delayed for 30 seconds, he would have steppe right into the path of ones.
My being a pothead may have saved him from being mauled.
You’re lucky you both survived the ordeal.
He was a good friend, but he would have been on his own. I’m a survivor.
Well you know you don’t have to be the fastest runner, just faster than the one behind you.