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As every young man already knows, poop is a regular subject matter in conversation. All chats with friends eventually turn to the poop subject. It happens with daddies too. Insert clever pun here: “That’s a crappy conversation,” or “That’s a lot of crap.” There, we got that out of the way, now we can get serious about the subject.

In nature, all living things poop. Plain and simple. Pretty much anything that eats, must get rid of it somehow. That’s the way we were all designed from the whale to the ant, all poop. Now, you may be asking yourself why this subject has come up now in my life and in my column. Well, I have dealt with a lot of poop lately and it was time to shine light on the matter.

I think it is important to give a little background on me, personally, first. No, I am not going to tell you in detail about my stool descriptions. I am going to tell you I used to have an iron stomach. Puke, poop, gas, uncleanliness — I used to be able to tolerate it all when I worked in emergency services. Only one thing got to me back then, and that was the smell of blood mixed with alcohol. Especially when you were confined in the back of a moving ambulance. But since my sickness and recovery/healing, I have a very weak stomach. I gag when cleaning the cat box and when hard boiled eggs are made. As a matter of fact, I just gagged thinking about it. Please don’t judge me.

Back to the subject at hand. I have been successful since having a granddaughter avoiding the inevitable back-door blow out. Not that she would ever do that, because she is perfect. But hypothetically, let’s say she did, and I was the one to conquer it and all its messy, sticky, runny, smelly consequences. It is a natural thing. We all do it. It must be done sometimes. I also managed to keep from letting my breakfast resurface to the light of the world in the process. Something peculiar happened that day, though.

I think my stomach and my system took on the role of copycat. We all have that friend that seems to mimic the gas of their surroundings. I know you know what I’m talking about. Well, that day my system decided to mimic the caca that I had handled earlier and give me a repeat performance. Not in my pants, thank goodness, although that has happened in the past. Don’t act like I’m the only one. But the day was not done.

Later that day, I found that dogs also can mimic the happenings that happen around them. I won’t lie; I did gag cleaning that one up. But the smell, looks and consistency all were identical. That part of the story is too traumatic to retell. It was not fun, and sorry to all of you with weak stomachs. If Richey Gorr is reading this, yes, it was like that time!

OK, to the readers still reading, I am sorry. I know that this column was a little different, but there is a point. Poop happens. Sometimes in a literal sense and sometimes in a life-altering event. It happens to us all. It is natural, and it is going to happen. The key lesson is in how we deal with it.

I could have easily passed the baby on to the next person, decided to stay in bed, or turned and walked out of the house and ignored the puppy anti-powers, but I did not. The same can be said when life throws a poop moment at us, as well. How do we attack it? We can run, but the problem is still there; ignoring it makes it worse, letting someone else clean it up causes strife and confusion.

It is going to happen. From the smallest to the biggest and baddest. The question is, will we let it disable us? Will we let the situation get the best of us or the worst in us? My advice is, handle the situation head on. Put your faith in a higher power and have faith that all you need is in you already.

Oh, and air freshener is a must. I’m Jess Saying.