I took my dog to the vet today for his annual check up. The thing that sticks with me is the part where they took a stool sample. You know, that’s the part where they stick that bubble wand up the dog’s butt with hopes that some feces will fill the little loop in the bubble wand?

I guess my dog didn’t have a live round in the chamber because the loop was empty as it was drawn out of his butt. Anyhoo, for me, picturing that feces stick as a bubble wand is the point at which I think I might have a problem.

I can’t just leave it at that – one of the unpleasantries of a trip to the vet. Nope. My mind functions in a manner where I involuntarily construct the story of what happens with that bubble wand after the test. It pictures a German man (no offense to the good people of Germany) with a dark fetish leaving the musty confines of his basement to run to the post office to retrieve a large pack of used bubble wands. He darts home and fishes out each wand, carefully inspecting it before he brings it to his lips and repeatedly attempts to blow animal feces bubbles with the used wands.

Chances are that if you ever see me with a troubled look on my face after a trip to the vet, I’m thinking about that imaginary pasty German guy and his deplorable fetish.