Pooper.

True story: Moby and I where on the last leg of our second cross-country move, from Washington state to Florida when this incident happened. In my state of "tiresome haze", I had forgotten that Moby had not yet gone number two that day. Predictably so, a butt-hole explosion happened inside the vehicle, while I was still driving...  

...I could not pull over at that point - that particular segment of road had no shoulder. So, it was turd and us, for the rest of the way until we got home, which was not too long from where we were. With that said, when one is riding with turd, any one mile can feel like one hundred. Moby and I drove with the "delightful" company of turd, for about 10 miles, until we could exclaim "FREEDOM!" and cough our way out of the truck. I'm telling you... this dog and I are not short of "amazing" memories.