I guess I should count myself lucky. Buster is now six years old, leaning more toward the seventh year of his life, and we have never had a disastrous situation regarding (how can I say this gently? I can't.) diarrhea. Well, our lucky streak ended yesterday. I should say my lucky streak, since Steve of Iron Stomach can never handle such things, and clean up is left to sit heavily on my shoulders. And last night that weight seemed equal to, if not more than, a two-ton truck. You see, our baby has, once again, picked up something at the dog park in our complex. This happened once before, but things were taken care of outside , and after a very expensive trip to the vet, it was resolved within a few days. We had thought, when we realized that something was not right down under with Buster again, that it would resolve itself in much the same manner. WRONG! Night before last "things" seemed to be getting better than they were that afternoon, when B...