Or There Will Be Poop. I couldn’t decide.
If you’re easily offended by feces or have a sensitive gag reflex and just thinking about gross things makes you dry heave, please stop reading.
PJ and I went to my parents’ house for Thanksgiving. We were looking forward to some time away from the city and some relaxation. We arrived Tuesday evening, went to bed early, and I woke up Wednesday morning feeling refreshed. I got up, played with the puppies (who are 12 and 5 years old- not really puppies anymore), and settled in on the couch to watch some TV. PJ came out to join me soon after and we sat on opposite ends of the couch, feet towards the center, and got the blankets situated just right. And then, PJ started sniffing.
“Did the dogs poop?”
I looked around at the floor. Nothing. He started shifting blankets around. I peered underneath. Then I jumped up and began shouting:
“Get up! Get up now!!! Off the couch! Take off your slippers!”
He got up, perplexed, and then saw what I saw. Poop smooshed into the couch cushion. Poop squashed into the treads of his slipper. Poop tracked through half the house.
We followed the poop-prints around the coffee table, through the living room, up the step into dining room, and out into the front room where the initial poop-cident had occurred. One of the dogs (I immediately knew which one because she was cowering in the kitchen with a guilty look on her face) had had an accident, although I’m not sure that’s the correct word for it. Vixen, in theory, knows where she’s supposed to go, but she is…special. I liken her attention span to that of a small child with ADHD who has just spotted something shiny across the room. In the course of just 1-2 minutes, this dog will chase after a toy, forget she’s chasing a toy and jump up on the couch to look out the window and bark at passers-by in the street, jump down to go sniff around in the kitchen for food crumbs, spot her previously abandoned toy, bring it to someone for a game of tug, leave the game of tug, check the backyard for any evil squirrels that may be lurking about, bark at the non-existent squirrels, jump into someone’s lap to give some uninvited, sloppy kisses, jump back down, and go back into the kitchen to pick up a few pieces of dog food to then leave under the dining room table for later. To say she is easily distracted is an understatement and sometimes the correct place to go to the bathroom just slips her mind.
The relaxing morning I’d hoped for was no more. The couch cushion cover went into the washing machine after being sprayed copiously with stain remover. Each poopy footprint was sprayed with carpet cleaner and left to sit for a minute before the scrubbing began. The hardwood floor was wiped down with antibacterial wipes. I washed my hands 8 million times. PJ tackled the slipper in the utility sink after getting suited up in rubber gloves. It was a really craptastic morning. At least we’re laughing about it now.
Oh, and Vixen’s name has now been formally changed to Poopsie.
Song of the Day: Garden Grove by Sublime