This is not so much a regular old blog post as it is an epic journey. We’ve got a Great Flood, foul beasts, a frightful dwarf, and a touch of the supernatural. And it’s all true.
You can probably see where I’m going with this tale. If you are eating fudge, you might want to put it away.
In a land approximately five weeks ago, we had heavy rains for a few days straight. The dogs do not like doing their business out in rain and wet grass and mud. If they had their druthers, they would relieve themselves indoors, on the plushest of carpeting, while we hand-feed them Snausages and lavishly praise them for being good dogs. When it’s raining outside, forget it. They simply won’t go. They’ll just stand there, huddled together on the porch, pleading with their big Fievel eyes for us to please stop the animal cruelty. Our hearts break, we usher the poor babies inside, and one of them promptly takes a whiz or a shiz right on the floor in front of us. Why do they think we put them outside in the first place? To eat Snausages without them?
Accidents happen, whatever. But this one rainy eve, accidents kept happening. Brent was away for the night so it was just me, armed with a spray bottle of cleaner and a roll of toilet paper to fight the forces of fecalness.
It all started when I was getting into bed. I laid down and slid my feet under the covers…and into wetness. A quick sniff of the wet area confirmed that it was pee all over the bed and my feet. So gross. I yelled, “Who peed?” and Swoozie and Mertle scampered away to their respective safe spots – Swoozie in her crate, and Mertle on the desk chair in my office. I don’t know why she runs to the office; perhaps it is so that she has easy access to the computer in case she needs to send an SOS email to the ASPCA. Ebby doesn’t understand shame so he just sat there looking up at me and was likely listening to the calliope music that we believe plays constantly in his head. Doo doo doodooloodle. .
With pee on my feet and irritation in my heart, I trudged – as lightly as possible because I had pee on my feet – to the bathroom. Once in the hallway, I was greeted by a pile of poop. “Hello,” it said, “I am here to stink up the place!” Wonderful. “Who pooped?” I shouted sternly. Swoozie and Mertle were still hiding, but faithful little Ebby was right behind me. “Did you do this?” I asked him. He merely cocked his head.
First things first, I washed my feet. Ebby is a poop eater, so I trapped him in the bathroom with me. Then I cleaned up the Number Two and herded all the dogs downstairs to go outside. Guess what was downstairs? More of the brown stuff. Damn it, pugs! I threw the dogs outside, cleaned up the brown, then went back upstairs to take care of the peepee bed. I stripped the bedding and scrubbed the mattress, and dried it as best as I could with my hair dryer. I put clean sheets and a new blanket on the bed and went downstairs to let the dogs back in. They ran inside and I turned to go upstairs and, almost right in front of me, was another pile of excrement. Either I missed it the first time, or this was magic poo. I was starting to feel like I was in one of those scenes from a horror movie where the heroine tries to run away, but the monster appears right in front of her, and when she turns and runs in the opposite direction, there the monster is again.
I uttered my standard line, but this time with more feeling: WHO POOPED? It’s hard to bellow the word “poop” if your tendency is to drag out vowel sounds for emphasis. If you’re not careful with the enunciation, it sounds like “P-EWWW-PED.”
Got it cleaned up, then went upstairs to bed. I thought that I would be going to bed at that point. How naive of me. I’m sure you know what was waiting for me on the bedroom floor. Was it a youngish Burt Reynolds lounging nude on an animal rug? Nope, it was excrement. It was always excrement, and oh, was it smug excrement.
My eyes and nostrils bulged at this new heap. Picture Arnold Schwarzenegger’s angry face. But it gets worse. Or have I said that already? Because things wouldn’t stop getting worse. The latest ‘worse’? Swoozie hopped up on my freshly-made bed and proceeded to void her bladder. I had no words. I held up my hand as if to tell Swoozie, her urine, and the excrement on the floor to talk to the hand. Words still failing me, and needing to get away from the furry doo-doo machines, I left the bedroom and headed to my office. I needed a safe place, a stool-free zone in which to take a few deep breaths and collect myself before beginning the next round of cleaning.
I walked into the office and – there was poop on the floor. I immediately exited the office.
Back in the hallway, all three dogs were now standing side-by-side, watching me. They seemed to be saying, “Um, are you busy? Cuz I could really go for a Snausage right now…”
TO BE CONTINUED*…..
*Yes, there is MORE to this story. My friends, we are only a third of the way through. Fortunately for everyone, this is the end of the turdy portion.