Fine. I’ll admit it. I have poop shyness, okay. There. I said it. The whole world knows now. I have my strict schedule of when I can and can’t poop.


  • Every morning at 7 sharp, just before my shower
  • At 5:17 each evening, right after I walk in the door from work


  • All other times

If I miss either of those windows, then I just have to wait it out until next time—grumbling stomach and pressure in my gut be damned!

Before you even ask, yes I have tried to poop at other times: after a shower, at a gas station on the way to work, at work, at a friends house, at my parents house—you name it, I’ve tried. If it’s not at those times in the comfort of my own toilet, it doesn’t flow. You don’t have to believe me. I know you’re out there saying, “Martin, just let it go.” Sorry, but my pooping doesn’t work that way.

If that isn’t weird enough, every time I sit on the toilet lately, I hear a voice: one that is sometimes encouraging me to poop, is sometimes frustrated that I’m not pooping, or is sometimes congratulating me when I do poop.

“Really, you’re not gonna poop?” it says.

“C’mon, just poop already!”

“Hooray! You finally pooped!”

How does it even know?

For the past two weeks, it’s never failed to be there exactly at the time I’m pooping. And frankly, I don’t know what to do! I’ve tried altering my schedule, even just by minutes, but as I said, that throws my bowels in a stink.

Ugh. All this stress makes me need to poop.

But it’s 7:05, and I just missed my window.

Beyond The Window

I don’t understand my dog. I really don’t. He’s the smartest, most stubborn beast I’ve ever met. And for four years he hasn’t gotten around to understanding that it’s OK to poop in a timely fashion.

Sure, maybe I’m not the best dog owner because sometimes I hit snooze a little too many times, and sure, that might cause me to rush him a bit, but c’mon, there’s no need for it to take 20 minutes to poop when I had to leave for work 10 minutes ago.

And sure, when I get home from work I could take him on a longer walk to get some exercise, but damn, man, after taking an ass-kicking at work all day, I just want to relax on my couch with dinner, a cold beer and some TV.

But Milo, a runt-of-the-litter-beagle with his poop shyness, feels the need to sniff and pee on everything and won’t allow that to happen.

And get this, if that’s not bad enough, he has to poop in the exact same spot every time! So I’ll stand there awkwardly in front of someone’s window as he sniffs the bushes and hikes his leg for the umpteenth time—to the point he’s not even peeing anymore, but rather just dribbling on the blades of grass below—and grow more impatient the longer he takes.

“Really, you’re not gonna poop?” I’ll ask him.

“C’mon, just poop already!”

“Hooray! You finally pooped!”

Too late. It’s 7:05 and I’m late for work.