Fertigation, But Make It Personal

Fertigation, But Make It Personal

🌼 Date: Thursday, January 8, 2026

⚡ Energy: Grateful, slightly stunned, and then immediately assaulted by dog poop.

💔 Status: Apparently people are reading this… and my blind puppy chose violence.

🌞 Outlook: Thankful for humans. Concerned about puppies. Still standing.

Before I tell you about how my morning turned into a full-blown biohazard situation, I need to stop and say this:

In one month — since December 8 — this little corner of the internet has had 400 viewers and 1,271 views.

That’s… a lot.
Especially considering my entire “marketing strategy” has been:
post the link on Facebook and Instagram and hope for the best.

So, if you’re here?
Reading.
Coming back.
Lurking quietly.
Sharing with a friend.
Or hate-reading with concern?

That’s on you. And I see you.

This space exists because people keep showing up — not for polished inspiration, but for honesty, dark humor, and whatever the hell this is. Thank you for making it worth sitting down and typing on the hard days.

Okay. Gratitude moment complete.
Now let me tell you about Momo.

My normal morning routine is simple: let the dogs out, take my temperature, take my meds, make breakfast.

Not today.

Today was a learning day.
Not a cancer learning day.
Not a chemo learning day.
A life hands you a blind puppy and says “figure it out” kind of day.

Enter Momo.
He’s 12.
He’s blind.
He’s a puppy. (All dogs are puppies. Age is fake.)

As I walked over to Momo’s kennel — newly placed under the windows — I was greeted by what can only be described as a Category 5 Shit Event.

Let me set the scene properly…

You know those big ol’ fields on road trips with the sprinkler systems on giant wheels that crawl across the land like agricultural centipedes? That’s called Lateral Move Irrigation. Sometimes the water spraying out is brown instead of clear.

That’s not water.
That’s fertilizer.
Specifically: liquid manure.

That process is called Fertigation.

Friends… Momo has mastered fertigation.

There was shit in his dog bed.
On his water dish.
On the dog gate.
All over the pee pads.
And, naturally, on his feet, because he had stomped through it like he was crushing grapes for wine.

A wine I do not recommend.
Pretty sure it would be… shitty.

Before I could do anything for myself, I scooped him up and put him on his outside tether. (Because blind puppy + freedom = lost puppy.) Then began the hazmat protocol.

Chemo rule #47: do not touch pet feces.
So, I gloved up like I was about to perform surgery in a war zone.

Smell is a big trigger right now, so I masked up too — and still managed to throw up in my mouth and sprint to the kitchen sink. Which meant… yes… now the sink needed scrubbing.

After that:
• dog bath
• bed into the washer
• pee pads washed
• water bowl through the dishwasher

And when I finally looked up?

Momo was stretched out on the couch.
Clean.
Relaxed.
Thriving.

Watching me do all the heavy lifting like a king who just survived a hostile takeover.

It’s a good thing I love the little shit.
(See what I did there?)

💗 Tina –

One Badass Day at a Time